


You Are Cordially Invited.....

by aljohnson



Series: The YACI-verse (Modern AU) [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Feels, Implied Smut, Romance, Royal Wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton, Weddings, aching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 64,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3470108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aljohnson/pseuds/aljohnson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2011, DI Jack Robinson of the Victoria Police Force is getting along OK with Miss Phryne Fisher. It wasn't a smooth start, and her Private Detective Agency is sometimes a major thorn in his side, but he likes her, and he's wondering if he might be brave enough to ask her out. But the 21st Century is a dating minefield, especially if you're out of practice, and continually worried about Police Force rules, policies and procedures. But Jack and Phryne aren't that different really.</p><p>Or so Jack thinks. Until an invitation to a very special wedding pops through Phryne's letterbox....</p><p>****************************************</p><p>OK, small warning: It's 2011 - everyone's language is a little more 'fruity' than it is in 1929!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday 24th February 2011

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tisziny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisziny/gifts).



> In 2011, the State Homicide Squad of the Victoria Police Force is located at the St Kilda Road complex, a major police station located just on the south side of the River Yarra. It's the modern version of 'City South'.
> 
> The Shakespearian Antonio is the one from The Merchant of Venice, just in case it wasn't clear.

It had all been going so well mused Jack. He had been slowly, carefully, spending more time with Phryne. There was generally a case-related excuse, but they talked more about themselves than the evidence. Or at least, just as much. He liked her, he really liked her. And he hadn’t felt like that in such a long time. 

He hadn’t even so much as dipped a toe in the pool of dating. His mum said it was time; that he should put himself out there. His mum had someone to suggest every time he went to see her. His mum looked at him like he could just snap his fingers and fall in love again. He was fairly sure now that it didn’t work like that. And anyway, he didn’t want to ‘put himself out there’; his heart was still bruised. Oh, he was over it, he thought, mostly. But he was resolved that he wasn’t going to allow himself to be hurt like that again. So he had been carefully guarding his heart, and somehow, when he wasn’t quite paying attention, Phryne had somehow wormed her way in. And he had begun to consider whether it was worth the risk; telling Phryne that he liked her, perhaps asking her out on a date. But he didn’t want to cock up their working relationship. He had come to really enjoy being able to talk over cases with her. Which was probably a breach of the Data Security policy, he considered. 

He should have known it couldn’t last, this blissful feeling of being in her orbit, just spending time with her; no-one judging him, no-one telling him what he should do, no-one trying to tell him what he should be feeling, how he should be behaving, what stage of ‘moving on’ he should be at. So he had been considering how to broach the subject of ‘liking her’ without sounding like a creep. He had been trying to figure out how she would be able to reject him without it being too awful. He had been considering how any future interaction might be possible without embarrassing her. He imagined she might dial down the flirting somewhat so that he would know she was just being friendly. She flirted with everyone; it was just her way. But when she flirted with him he felt like he was the only person in the room. He did wonder whether all her targets felt like that. He wondered whether he was over-thinking it all.

He was aware that she had casual flings; a lot of casual flings. Which, obviously, was absolutely fine. It was her life, and her choices. He wasn’t entirely sure what he did want, but he was very, very sure that he didn’t want just one night with her. 

She could not be tied down, which was one of the reasons he was so captivated by her. He loved the energy she had, the endless inquisitiveness, which, yes, sometimes led her into trouble, but largely led to her discovering some new skill or interest. Jack wished he could be a bit more like her; a bit more adventurous and carefree. But he had never really been a ‘one night stand’ sort of bloke. He’d always had to feel strongly connected to someone before he risked his heart, or for that matter any other part of his anatomy.

He had been close to saying something to Phryne about, well, ‘liking her’ on a few previous occasions, but every time, something had happened and he had retreated into himself, unsure and uncertain once more. And he had just been about to step over the precipice of asking her out when he had been foiled again. But this time he was thwarted not by the arrival of her Aunt; the scary battle-axe, or by the ringing of her bloody iPhone; one of her apps alerting her to something, or even by some random bloke winking at her on the seafront. No, this time he had been thwarted by a piece of pristine white cardboard. 

The invitation had hit her doormat, and of course ‘Dottie’ had been beside herself. And of course she hadn’t been able to resist mentioning it to Hugh. Who, of course, had been unable to stop his mouth running away with him. Collins had burst into his cramped office, shoved away on the dark side of the third floor of the St Kilda Road complex and started speaking before Jack could think to admonish him.

“Isn’t it fantastic news about Miss Fisher, Sir?”

“Collins?”

“The invite, Sir. To the Royal Wedding? My Gran’ll be so impressed Sir, she loves the Royal Family” the smile on Collins’ face threatened to burst free and romp around the confined space.

“Miss Fisher has been invited to the Royal Wedding?” Jack spluttered.

“Yes Sir. Dottie says that Miss Fisher has known Prince William and Prince Harry for most of their lives. Dottie says Miss Fisher has spent most of the morning on the phone to her dressmaker. Dottie says Miss Fisher is going to have something specially made, Sir. Dottie says…”

Jack interrupted briskly, “I’m not sure this is any of our business, Collins.”

Collins looked down-hearted and Jack suddenly felt like he had kicked a puppy. “But I’m sure Miss Fisher must feel very honoured.”

And just like that, Jack’s sunny, active, fun summer; already waning to the cold stagnant dampness of autumn had juddered to a sudden halt. Jack had slumped down in his chair and Collins had taken the hint and left. 

This was it then. She would get on the plane, and fly back to England, and realise that this little city where the weather was always too hot, or too cold, or too wet or too dry, was the last place she wanted to be. And she’d just never come back. 

Thirty minutes after Collins had backed out of Jack’s office he had idly Googled the cost of flights to London and laughed in desperation as he realised that he might be able to afford a trip every five years. If he booked six months in advance. And travelled out on a Tuesday. Via Perth, Singapore, Doha and Frankfurt. But why would she even want him to visit anyway: foolish Jack; the brusque Aussie copper? He would probably never see her again.

If he could just see her a few more times; perhaps enjoy a marvellous dinner with her, maybe permit himself one of the tantalising cocktails she always offered and which he always refused, maybe then, after that, he could go willingly to his fate like Antonio about to sacrifice his pound of flesh. He spread his hands wide across the desk in front of him, and repeatedly banged his head into them. This was no time for bloody Shakespeare. 

Jack sat up and tipped his chair backwards, glancing across the Homicide department desks arranged outside his office. The Detectives who were present were all sat tapping away at their keyboards. Knowing he was about to be massively in breach of several parts of the IT and Social Media Policy, he fumbled in his suit pocket for his smartphone. Not an iPhone like hers, he thought; no chance, but serviceable none the less. He swept the pad of his thumb across the screen to unlock it and jabbed at the Facebook app. He scrolled down his Wall. His pathetically small number of ‘friends’, combined with Phryne’s prolific posting schedule meant that he soon found a post by her. He pressed on her name, waited for the page to load and then scrolled down. 

He found the relevant post, from some three days ago:

_Darlings! Terribly exciting mail! What is a girl to wear? Can’t possibly upstage the bride! (Friday 21st February – 10.00am.)_

There was a picture of the invitation: white card, he presumed; black ink; embossed with gold. What the hell was a “Lord Chamberlain?” Her name was written on the card in precise calligraphy; ‘The Honourable Phryne Fisher’. There were some comments underneath from the usual suspects:

_Liz Mac – (Friday 21st – 11.00am) You? Not upstage someone? Who are you and what have you done with Phryne Fisher?_

_Phryne Fisher – (Friday 21st – 3.00pm) I have to let the girl have one day, Mac ☺_

_Ray Hirsch – (Friday 21st – 3.17pm) Careful now P, that’s the start of a slippery slope :D_

_Phryne Fisher – (Friday 21st – 5.47pm) Shall I ask B &C to run a book on how many newspaper stories I can feature in?_

_Bertie J – (Friday 21st – 5.48pm) I’ll give you Evens on ‘more than 50’_

_Liz Mac – (Friday 21st – 7.45pm) My money’s on 37. And some pappy BS about her and some bloke_

_Bertie J – (Friday 21st – 8.17pm) How much you in for Liz Mac?_

_Liz Mac – (Friday 21st – 8.19pm) $50_

_Phryne Fisher – (Friday 21st – 10.00pm) Darlings please! This is unseemly!_

_Phryne Fisher – (Saturday 22nd – 2.13am) 42. $100_

Jack sighed. He had thought the difference between them was not too marked. Yes: she had a house on The Esplanade at St Kilda, yes; she had a totally ridiculous car, yes; she regularly went to society fundraisers where the tickets cost more than his month’s salary, but he had started to think that none of that mattered. He had started to hope that she might like him as much as he liked her. There had been smiles and glances. And now she had gone and received an invitation to the Royal Wedding. 

His mum had been on and on about the topic ever since the engagement had been announced. She was already planning her TV viewing schedule; had already co-erced Jack into moving her second TV downstairs, next to her main one so she could watch on two channels at once. She was making bunting. It was going to be a grand affair. 

Jack had been considering asking Phryne to the Firemans’ & Policemans’ Ball – a ridiculous hangover from the old days, but surviving still somehow. How ludicrous, he thought to himself, to imagine that she would ever consent to accompany him to such a lowly event. Plainly, he had been fooling himself. She was so far out of his league, and he had been deluding himself to think otherwise. 

His phone buzzed. Phryne had tweeted. He wasn’t sure why he still had his phone set up to send him notifications of her tweets. He told himself that it was so that he didn’t miss any updates about his own bloody cases. She had an unerring knack of managing to find out information before he did and it was becoming embarrassing. The resources of her detective agency were somewhat basic, and it irritated him immensely when she managed to unearth clues before he did. At least he had managed to get her to stop tweeting cryptic hints. He stabbed at the twitter icon and read the tweet;

**Darlings! First dress ideas for #royalwedding with @HouseOfFleuri Terribly exciting!**

She had attached a picture of a piece of paper with some material samples stuck to it and some pencil lines. It was too closely focused for him to be able to determine anything.

Impulsively, he decided to tweet a response. If anyone from HR happened to be scouring his twitter profile he’d just say it was his lunchtime. He checked his watch; oh, it was his lunchtime. He typed carefully:

**@only1Phryne just as long as the dress isn’t concealing anything lethal!**

He hit ‘post’ and sat back. That was probably a mistake, he thought. Possibly that was a tad too flirtatious. After 30 seconds his phone beeped.

**@callmejack a well cut dress conceals or reveals exactly as much as it’s supposed to! xx #caretofriskmeInspector?**

Jack smiled. Well he wasn’t totally averse to having a little banter with her. He quickly punched in another reply:

**@only1Phryne some of us have work to do ☺ #protectingMelbourne**

With that he returned his phone to his jacket pocket and opened the next case report on his desk. Yes, he thought, it had all been going so well.


	2. Thursday 14th April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is counting the hours until Phryne has to leave. Her sweeping into his office isn't making his life any easier.

He wasn’t tracking the dates, obviously, but it was tomorrow that she got on the plane, and flew out of his life. He had absolutely convinced himself that he wasn’t ever going to see her again, other than in excited photos on Facebook. 

He was contemplating their recently finalised case and she didn’t even knock: just threw open the door to his office and breezed in. It would be easier to reprimand her if she didn’t look quite so stunning. He appraised her quickly; his eyes sweeping from her head to her toes and back up again. She was wearing what he termed ‘seductive business formal’ today: a black dress, cut in at the waist, falling just on the knee. There was a small V-shaped notch cut into the neckline, and, he knew, capped sleeves. She was, as usual, wearing stilettos that he was fairly sure could both kill a man and make lesser women weep with fear at the prospect of having to walk in them. There was a bolero jacket, and handbag, which, together with the stilettos, were all a vibrant shade of scarlet. 

“How did you manage to get past the front desk?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose, “And shouldn’t you be packing?”

It had been a trying few days since he, well, they, he had to admit, had solved the murder at Abbotsford. He wondered how Phryne, a lapsed sodding Collingwood Magpie, had managed to get retained to find a missing sodding hat for his team’s coach? It was a ridiculous situation. Only she could find a murder when she had been looking for headgear. She’d solved her ‘lucky hat’ situation before the boys from the morgue had even collected his body; a bit of early season ‘sport’ taken too far. 

He’d been called in to investigate the murder; his old school mate Tommo was on the committee now. Tommo had tried to look apologetic about ‘the Rosie situation’; Jack knew Tommo was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Jack had taken some ribbing for the involvement of ‘that posh sheila’. It had got worse when she’d been the one to work out the vital clue. Really, who the hell used cold water treatments these days? There were physios and trainers and doctors and sports psychologists to sort out any problems. 

And then, to cap it all, she’d agreed to go and watch the next match with him. And she’d looked so effortlessly pretty in dark jeans and a three-quarter length wool coat and block heeled boots. And then, just as the teams had been running out, she’d said she was “overheating”, and had unbuttoned her coat before turning to him. Underneath she had been wearing an Abbotsford Singlet, that, he hypothesised, she had purloined from the club shop. And she was a sodding Collingwood fan. He had tried not to drool. When she had leaned in close to him and whispered, “I wouldn’t want there to be any doubt as to whose team I was on, Jack” batting her lashes at him, he had almost combusted. He had been perilously close to leaning in and kissing her ‘for good luck’. And then he had remembered that she was leaving in a week for England. 

It had been absolutely the worst possible time for his ex-bloody-wife to finally pay an interest in the sport he loved. Rosie had looked like she was considering strangling Jack with his own scarf, and he’d hesitantly had to explain to Phryne just exactly who that woman was who was staring daggers at them. Phryne of course had shaken Rosie’s hand and been so unflinchingly polite that he had started to wonder if this was some bizarre nightmare. It wasn’t even fair – Rosie had only been there because her new husband was the sodding chairman, a fact which Jack had so far been able to ignore. Eleven years of marriage she’d never once shown an interest, but as soon as the posh seats were an option there she was; she had practically waddled down the stairs in the grandstand to the chairman’s seating area. She must be, what, seven months gone now? And she was looking at him like he was the bad person? He felt as if he was being punished, but he wasn’t sure what for. The atmosphere had been rather subdued after that, although Phryne had quietly clasped his hand in hers, squeezing it as if in comfort, smiling at him as if she in some way sympathised with his situation. She knew all about it of course, she’d dragged it all out of him on the night that Jack tried not to think about. Jack had been so close to gambling his heart with Phryne, but Rosie’s pointed stares had sent his increasingly flirtatious banter with Phryne back to politely reserved. 

As if to compensate, Phryne’s tweets that day had been positively salacious; considerations of the physical fitness of the players and how much stamina they might have. Phryne had also insisted on taking a picture of her and Jack sat in the stand. She’d wrapped her arm around his shoulder; not backing down when Rosie had chosen that precise moment to look around and up to where he was sat. He had frozen for a moment, before hesitantly wrapping his arm around Phryne’s waist. He had rather enjoyed that brief physical contact as she prodded the screen of her iPhone’s camera. He’d ‘liked’ it when she’d posted the picture on Facebook later that evening. So, he noticed, had another thirty six of her friends. Some of them, he noted, had double-barrelled surnames. Suddenly that seemed important. Several people had posted comments to the effect of asking who he was. One of them had described him as ‘spunky’. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He was very unsure as to what the fact that Phryne had ‘liked’ that comment might mean. 

He was snapped back to the present by her adopting her usual position on the edge of his desk. He was definitely in breach of rules about allowing members of the public to see his PC Desktop. He had learnt, once Phryne had started invading his office on a regular basis, to minimise his tabs at all possible times. The Victoria Police approved desktop background of a portion of the Shield was all she would be able to see if she decided to try and be nosey today. 

“You know very well I have my methods Jack” she flashed him a wicked smile and fished a ‘Visitor’ pass on a lanyard out of her handbag, before slinging it around her neck and burying it in her cleavage. “I may have kept this from a previous visit, but the colours don’t go with this outfit” she smouldered. 

“And I will need you to return it when you leave” Jack replied, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms. “I could have you for theft, Miss Fisher”

“You could, _have me_ , for a lot of things, Inspector” Phryne snapped back, and Jack would have sworn he could see her roll her tongue around in her mouth when she enunciated the word ‘Inspector’. “But ‘Theft’ isn’t one of them” she added, quirking an eyebrow at him. She had leaned in slightly closer to him, and he had instinctively moved forward himself.

“Oh yes? An expert on the law are we now?” he said, in a low tone.

“Enough. And I have no, permanent intent, to deprive” she practically sizzled the words into his ear as she hooked the lanyard back out of her dress and pressed it towards Jack. 

He tried not to think about the heat he could feel coming off it in waves. A change of topic seemed his best option. He looked at her, silently, and raised an eyebrow. “And the packing?” he asked, straightening his tie, nervously, as he sat back in his chair once more. The lanyard dropped down onto her dress with a soft thud and Jack had tried not to stare at it as it bounced before coming to rest. 

“Oh Jack, there are a whole” she glanced at her watch, “Seventeen hours, before the flight leaves. Dot’s taking care of most of it; she’s had a spreadsheet set up for me for weeks of everything I need to take. As long as I remember the invite and my Credit Cards, at a pinch anything else could get sorted out once I’m there. Although I’d be terribly put out about the dress. Renée and her team have worked so hard on it.”

“Is this in any way relevant to any of my ongoing cases?” Jack was reaching the end of his tether. On the one hand, any precious extra minutes with her now, before she waltzed out of his life were to be savoured. On the other hand, ripping the plaster off quickly would hurt less in the long run. 

“Probably not. But that’s not why I’m here” she answered, falling silent and looking away from him.

“Fine. Why are you here? Only I am very busy” Jack was becoming intrigued but was trying not to show it. Phryne being quiet was an unusual occurrence. Phryne being quiet and obviously slightly nervous about something was even rarer.

“I wanted to ask you a favour” she looked up at him now, and was suddenly serious. 

Jack wasn’t sure how to handle serious Phryne; he never was. It happened so rarely, but always felt like she was opening a small part of herself up to him when she did. He leaned forward, “Miss Fisher?” he asked, tentatively.

“Phryne!”

“Phryne” he corrected himself.

“It’s just. Whilst I’m gone. And it’s only a little over two weeks Jack, and I’ve run it past her, and Mac is on-board too, and Ray, so it wouldn’t just be you” she babbled and shrugged her shoulders. She always babbled when she was nervous. The shoulder shrug suggested she was uncertain about the outcome of this conversation. 

“Run what past who?” Jack had no clue where this was leading.

“Jane. She needs people to keep an eye on her. I mean, obviously Mr and Mrs B will be at the house. And I’ve asked Jane if she’s OK with me asking you, and she said she was and I thought I’d ask you now, so you can say ‘No’ if you like without her being here.”

“This is about Jane?” Jack was still confused.

“Yes. Would you, just, be on the other end of the phone if she needs you? Not that she should. But just in case? It’s just that it’s the first time I’ve gone away without her, since Helen passed, and I think Jane’s a bit worried” Phryne was still tense.

“Since her mother… really?” Jack paused. It was easy to forget sometimes that a form of motherhood had been thrust on Phryne. But she always spoke of Jane with such pride, as if she was her natural child. “What do I know that a teenage girl would need to ask me?” Jack’s mind was fleeing rapidly to a state of panic. 

“Well possibly not much, but I’ll wager you know how to intimidate fifteen year old boys who are thinking about getting over-familiar.” Phryne smiled a small smile.

“I’m fairly sure that counts as Police Intimidation” Jack furrowed his brow; didn’t Phryne have ‘contacts’ for this sort of thing?

“That’s exactly what I was counting on” she was smouldering again now, artfully crossing her legs to reveal the slightest hint of thigh.

Jack swallowed nervously. “What do I have to do?”

“Not much. Exchange of phone numbers. Answer if she calls. If she does, keep me in the loop; even if she says not to. Especially if she says not to” Phryne was over-protective of Jane. It was understandable really. 

“And Mac’s part of this, what, babysitting scheme too?”

“Yes. So you won’t have to deal with anything medical. Or you know, embarrassing.” Phryne somehow managed to make the word sound even more worrying than it was. But she was also looking at him with such hope, as if she really wanted him to say yes. He huffed out a breath.

“Fine, fine then. Yes.”

“Excellent.” Phryne clapped her hands and rocked on the edge of the table. “Phone?”

“What?”

“I need to put her number in your phone, and then text her so she has your number. So, phone please.” She held her hand out. Jack went to lift his phone from the desk.  
“No. Not the work one; your personal one” Phryne added. Jack looked at her quizzically. “Well she might need to text you Jack, and I wouldn’t want you to breach one of your precious policies about non-business use of Force property”

“Those policies are in place for a very good reason Phryne, they ensure that everyone knows where they stand and what is acceptable behaviour” she had rattled him. Which was probably her intention he thought, as he thrust his personal smartphone towards her. Phryne seemed to know exactly what was acceptable behaviour and to gaily run right past it towards ‘scandalous’ and ‘indecent’. 

Phryne was tapping away at his phone. When he checked later he would realise that she had added ‘Jane Ross’, ‘Fisher/Ross landline’, ‘Phryne, London’, ‘Phryne, Glos estate’, ‘Phryne, personal’ and ‘Mac’ to his phone. Google told him that ‘Glos’ was short for ‘Gloucestershire’, and he knew that was where her parent’s estate was. She had also sent Jane a text. It was mercifully formal:

**_“Jane: this is the Inspector’s phone. I’ve given him the house number as well. Call him if you need anything. P xx”_ **

Having finished fiddling with his phone she handed it back to Jack. He fished a business card out of his wallet and held it out towards Phryne, “give her this as well, just in case?”

Phryne smiled that smile that Jack recognised as him being about to be stitched up. “Or you could hand it to her in person, Jack.” She had registered his tilted head and ploughed on. “I’m having farewell drinks this evening. Or coffee for you and Hugh, as you prefer. Please come.” 

Her smile had been so light, her expression so open that before Jack had known what he was doing he had agreed to attend at her house that evening. It was both the best and worst decision he had made this year.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**“Darlings! Little farewell drinks soiree! Let’s hope the hangover won’t be too bad!”**

The tweet had been sent at 7.30pm, with a photo of a crate load of booze attached. Enough to sink The Titanic, he thought. Force rules about not drinking on duty or when he would be on duty soon - and he counted the next morning as ‘soon’ - meant that he would be restricted to a lake’s worth of coffee. At least she had a very good espresso maker. Top end of course. 

He had parked his car behind hers. He had been very careful when he did so. There was no way his insurance would ever cover him if he caused any damage to her car. At least not without his renewal becoming prohibitively expensive. Jack had been quite proud of his dark blue BMW 3 Series when he’d bought it three years ago. His mum had said it was a reaction to the separation. He’d just felt like he wanted something nice that was ‘his’, and not ‘theirs’. Behind Phryne’s bright red Jaguar XK Convertible it looked like an old banger. 

When he had slunk back into the driver’s side at Eleven O’clock, he had been trying to block out what had just occurred. He managed to focus all the way until he was the other side of the Yarra. Then the car had just seemed to steer itself, and he’d been outside his flat without even realising. He looked at himself in the rear-view mirror. What had he been thinking?


	3. Friday 15th April - Melbourne to Singapore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The problem was, Phryne mused, that being stuck in a plane for a very long flight gave you a lot of time to think about things...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information on The Domain Parklands, see this handy leaflet: http://www.thatsmelbourne.com.au/Documents/Parks/Domain-07.pdf

The problem was, Phryne mused, that being stuck in a plane for a very long flight gave you a lot of time to think about things. 

The journey to the airport had happened far too early for her liking and Dot had turned up for work very, very early to make sure Phryne had got everything she needed – the luggage; her dress; the matching hat; the shoes; the invite; a utility bill (they were doing identity checks at weddings now? She supposed it was a necessary precaution); her UK Driving Licence, still valid for another two years; her passports; the flight tickets; her phone; the charger for her phone; the spare charger for when she lost the first one; Dot had even managed to ferret out Phryne’s old Oyster card, even though Phryne had assured her that she had little intention of catching a tube anywhere. 

As Dot had fussed around checking and rechecking the luggage, Mr B had silently pressed a triple espresso into Phryne’s hand. When Dot was finally satisfied that all was in order, Mr B had started the movement of the luggage to the hallway, and Phryne had decided she needed some air. She had stood in the front garden, looking out over the St Kilda foreshore. The sun had been rising over the horizon. It really was breath-taking. And the light was so different to London or Gloucestershire; somehow more alive, she considered? She could smell the salt in the sea-air as the waves had pounded the shore. 

She had fumbled for her phone and snapped a photo. She uploaded the picture to Facebook and added her feelings:

_“Lovely friends; this is the view from my house this morning. This time next week the view from my house will be of a square in Mayfair. A week after that my view will be of one of my oldest friends in England getting married – and in front of the entire world! And leaving now seems even more surreal than when I arrived here. Thank you for your support; your love and your wisdom. (Friday 15th – 6.35am)”_

She had pressed ‘post’ and slipped her phone back in her pocket. Phryne had hugged Jane goodbye and tried not to get tearful about it. 

“Bring me something cool from Covent Garden?” Jane had asked cheekily, and Phryne had nodded. 

Now she found herself in the First Class Lounge, with hours until the flight left, contemplating the bottom of yet another cup of coffee.

She hated this bit; the waiting. There was nothing you could do, you had to be here, but it felt like you were in a vacuum, cut off from the world, a step apart from it all. She had eaten some breakfast and had been watching Sky News. She had suddenly noticed a newsflash scrolling along the bottom of the screen. She retrieved her phone and texted Jack. She would deal with last night later, right now she needed to get in on what she hoped would be his case. She had sent him a text:

**_Are you on the John Andrews case? I know his wife; we were at University together. Keep me in the loop? May be able to offer valuable insight? P._ **

She pressed send and waited. The silence was interminable. Eventually her phone vibrated. 

**_Just on the way to the scene now. Even you will struggle to solve a case from the other side of the world. Jack._ **

Now that, Phryne thought, sounded like a challenge. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Tweet by @only1phryne **I’m leaving on a jet plane! Don’t know when I’ll be back again (kidding – denial AM, Tues 3rd May) #UKhereIcome**

Once she had boarded and been seated and become settled and the plane had finally taken off, Phryne was truly alone with her thoughts. At least Jack was speaking to her. Well, texting. She shut her eyes and considered.

The first time had been when they were ‘undercover’. Well, she was undercover; he was tailing a suspect and they’d just happened to be doing those things together in the Domain Parklands. They had been walking along, their suspect ahead of them, none the wiser. The trees had thinned out and the suspect had kept going. Phryne and Jack had continued following, lightly bickering about their case. He kept on calling it his case; and saying she was interfering. She kept on saying that was nonsense, and besides, she was retained by one of Jack’s previous suspects to find the true killer. As they had bickered they had failed to realise they were no longer afforded cover by the trees. Their suspect had stopped dead in his tracks ahead of them. Jack and Phryne had quickly stopped walking. 

As the suspect had started to turn around, Jack had hissed at her. “You see, this is why you shouldn’t be on my cases. You’ve blown your ‘cover’ and you’ve probably alerted our suspect to my presence.”

“How is this my fault?” Phryne had hissed back, taking a step closer to Jack, “You are so obviously a Detective in that suit I’m surprised you don’t come with a flashing neon sign”. 

She had looked around; the suspect seemed to be looking towards them. “Shit, what do we do?” she asked. 

“We can’t make a run for it, then we really are blown, and we’ll lose him”. Jack had swallowed nervously.

“Kiss me Jack.” Phryne had demanded, pushing herself into him.

“What?” Jack had spat out the word like a bullet.

“I’ve seen this on loads of television shows, works every time” she wrapped an arm around him. 

“Miss Fisher!” Jack had frozen to the spot. 

“Oh for pity’s sake” she had sighed. She had grabbed his head, pulled him to her and locked her lips onto his. She had broken for air a few seconds later, whispering to him, “Come on Jack, put your back into it, I think he’s coming back this way!” She’d moved in to take charge once more and been astounded when Jack had suddenly wrapped his arms around her, yanked her closer and kissed her; full-bloodied and open-mouthed and with astonishing passion. Their suspect had walked right past them, shuffling quickly, probably out of embarrassment. Phryne had observed him passing behind them and waited until he was a safe distance away before she broke the kiss.

“Jack!” she exclaimed, a look of intrigue now on her face.

He’d suddenly gone very still, and very red and had released her, smoothing her jacket sleeves as he did so.

“Jack?” she had asked, suddenly confused.

“I’m married” he had said, almost apologetically, as a look of flustered horror spread across his face. 

“And we’re undercover” she had replied, deciding to brush off the whole thing, before dashing off in pursuit of the now vanishing suspect. 

They had known each other barely two months then; had crossed each other’s paths only infrequently. Phryne had already decided that he was an intriguing prospect and that she would take him to bed at some point. She had not made any effort to find out anything about him. It had shocked her to learn that he had someone in his life. His long hours at work and a lack of a wedding ring or of any personal photographs in his office had led her to conclude he was single. 

She had dialled down the flirting after that. Fun was one thing, but she had very strict rules, and married men were out of the running. Too much heartbreak and misery lay that way. 

The second time had been just over a year later. She had thrown a Christmas Party for the staff at the detective agency, and had cheekily invited Hugh and Jack too. Well, they were a ‘resource’, after all. And Jack had been drinking. Really, properly, drinking. He had arrived after a walk from the tram, which was unusual in itself and should have been a warning, she concluded later. He had shifted through quite a lot of wine before moving onto her Single Malt and they had ended up sat on the reserve opposite her house, leaning against a tree. Suddenly, Jack had reached for her, pulled her to him and kissed her enthusiastically, but somewhat carelessly. It had been messy and had felt desperate, as if he was trying to prove something to himself. Despite her better judgement, she had allowed herself to respond and kiss him back.

“You’re married” she had said when he had stopped. The pain in his eyes when he had looked at her was etched in her memory.

“No, I’m divorced” he had whispered before looking away. 

He’d necked down more whiskey as Phryne had coaxed the entire exceptionally sorry story from him. She had eventually bundled him into a taxi, telling the driver to put it on her account. He had never mentioned the occurrence since, and Phryne had decided that it was just Jack trying to deal with some serious emotional issues. Given what he’d told her, she couldn’t blame him.

Since then she had got to know him better. They worked together on some cases now; generally the ones where the presence of an ‘Honourable’ lady helped to grease the wheels. She had started having him over for dinner somewhat routinely. Phryne had found that she was enjoying his friendship. She still fancied him though; still held memories of those two kisses, so different and yet both hinting at a passionate man underneath the overly strict adherence to the rules of the Police Force. 

And yet, she had somehow refrained from making him an offer; from setting out her stall plainly and simply. Initially, she had decided that she didn’t want him at his worst, fresh out of a divorce and emotionally raw; she wanted him at his best, and she was prepared to wait for him. She had not been sitting around waiting idly though; she had distracted herself with a lovely selection of dalliances with some very good looking men, some very amusing men, some very rich men, and some men who just sparked her interest for whatever tenuous reason. 

In terms of her interactions with Jack, well, she had upped the flirting slightly. She had caught him looking at her. She had on some occasions tried to be brazen. And she was fairly sure that there had been points where he had been thinking about just going for it. She was unsure as to what, precisely, at this point, was holding him back. But he had, always, pulled back, and she was utterly perplexed as to why. 

She understood that when they first met he had been married, so she had withdrawn. Then, post-divorce he had obviously been drawn to her on at least some level, but other than the drunken snog, he had never shown any intent, and had in fact been plainly trying to mend his heart. Phryne may have adopted a stance of not getting involved in anything serious; in always keeping everything light, but even she recognised when a man was too vulnerable, and therefore that seduction of him would be inappropriate.  
But, to her own consternation, instead of her interest remaining merely physical, she had found herself caring about him. She had found herself being concerned about him. She had concluded, during their many dinners and late night ‘case de-briefings’ that he was a very reserved man, given to considering matters deeply. He was not impulsive; he did not behave rashly. Every action he took was very measured. 

But beneath that reserved exterior lurked a highly passionate soul; he enjoyed literature, poetry, the theatre, although he didn’t get to go as often as he wished, he loved Abbotsford Footy Club, and cycling. He was devoted to his family; there was a clutch of nieces and nephews whom he had various pictures of on his phone. He had a small number of friends, many of whom he had known for most of his life. His dedication to his career had led to him attaining the rank of ‘Inspector’ at a relatively young age. He was happy to stay at that level; he enjoyed being on the ground and solving crimes, any further up the career ladder led to even more paperwork than he had to endure in his current position. 

He had hinted that Rosie had been keen for him to move up and attain an even higher rank; and the commensurate pay rise that accompanied it. Phryne had, not surprisingly, formed a fairly dim opinion of the former Mrs Robinson. And that was even though, in his usual state of sobriety, Jack had scrupulously avoided affixing blame. Phryne sometimes wondered exactly how much of his drunken revelations he recalled.

When she had met the ex-wife Phryne had seen the pain and embarrassment and even humiliation written large across every facet of Jack’s face and body language. And she had held his hand in an effort to comfort him. The sight of his ex-wife, very obviously very pregnant, must have hurt and she had observed a look of torment in Jack when he had looked at the bump. 

As she had observed him over the last fifteen months or so, in her house, and at cases, and even at that footy match, she had seen him ebb and flow, seen that he had plainly been considering the prospect: of her; of them. 

She wasn’t sure whether he was working himself up to asking her out or propositioning her. She wasn’t sure anymore which offer she wanted him to make. And that confused her immensely. Because she didn’t do ‘going out’ with people. Not seriously. She went out, for dinner, or to the theatre, or opera, or even to gigs, and then always straight to hers, or theirs. Usually hers. And then she might see them for a few more weeks, a few more ‘dates’, but then she would break it off. But the reason why she had not forced the situation with Jack was because she was utterly confused as to what happened if they did, somehow, manage to tumble into her bed. She enjoyed his friendship. She relied on his position as a Police Officer to access certain information she would otherwise struggle to obtain. And she was not sure how either of those would be affected by seducing him.

In the Venn diagram of people in Phryne’s life, there were various circles. They essentially boiled down to ‘Business Contacts’, ‘Friends’ and ‘Actual or Potential Lovers’. Whilst there was quite some crossover of people who had found themselves in the first, before a temporary sojourn in the last, there were only a highly select few who found themselves in the intersection of ‘Friends’ and ‘Lovers’, and absolutely no-one who fell in the middle point where all three sections met. 

And here was where Phryne was confused, because she was unsure as to where she wanted Jack to be. She had no idea how to handle this. She had decided to ignore it, pretend that it was easy and straightforward and go about their business of solving crime and flirting without intent. ‘Business Contact’ and ‘Friend’ it was plainly to be. He was obviously not going to make a move, so she would never have to confront it, and they could just carry on as they were. 

The third kiss had taken her entirely by surprise.

The flight attendant topped up Phryne’s glass of wine, smiling in a friendly manner as she moved across the aisle. Phryne took a huge gulp and cast her mind back to the night before. 

Drinks had gone fantastically well. Mac had been on top form, thumping out a tune on the piano. Mr B had delivered a selection of excellent cocktails, and Phryne had smiled as he had respectfully asked Mrs B to dance on the polished wooden floor as the night had worn on and his need to tend to others had minimised. Jane had been somewhat clingy, understandably, Phryne supposed. They had moved into the kitchen at one point to have ‘a serious talk’, where Phryne had reassured Jane that she was absolutely coming back; had shown her the return flight tickets and promised her faithfully that she wasn’t going to abandon her, no matter how excited she might be about the prospect of a return to London. Ray had arrived late and left early; pleading an early shift at work the next day. Dot and Hugh had disappeared into the garden, where Phryne suspected there had been some serious ‘frisking’ in the gazebo – certainly the slight dishevelment of Dot’s top, and Hugh’s blushing had suggested as much. 

And then it had been a quarter to eleven, and Jack had started looking nervously at his watch. He had been quiet all evening. He had joined in with some of the singing, and had taken Mac’s slight ribbing of his quietness by her tinkling ‘a Policeman’s lot is not a happy one’ with a wry smile and a rejoinder that in fact he found himself much more content these days than he had been for some time. 

Phryne had moved over to where he was sat on the sofa and clinked her cocktail glass against his almost empty coffee mug. “Jack, are you OK?” she had asked.

“I’m fine” he had said, and smiled weakly.

“It’s just. I see you floating off into a world of your own sometimes. And you seem so, pensive.”

He had tilted his head at that and there had been the brief flicker of a twinkle in his eyes. “My mum says I think about things too much. Says I should spend more time ‘doing’ things.”

She had pursed her lips before asking, “And what do you think about that?”

“I do, think that is. Which is maybe the problem. But inside my head is safe.” He had gone quiet and placed his now empty coffee mug on a side table. 

“You, Jack Robinson, are a conundrum” she had whispered. Jack had shrugged and awkwardly shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Phryne really wished she could persuade him to come to her house in something other than a suit. Even at the footy match he’d been dressed formally. And who wore a waistcoat these days? She could admit to herself that she appreciated a well-dressed man, but a little variety occasionally might add some spice to the mix. 

“You know, I think we’re maybe not so very different, you and I” she had smiled at him as he had been eyeing up the path across the room to the front door. 

“Well I’d have said that too” he replied, with what she thought sounded like resignation. 

“I’d have, Jack? Past tense?” she had queried, suddenly very nervous. She had felt her throat go dry and had swigged from her cocktail in an attempt to compensate. 

“Well, I’m not the one of us who’s been invited to a wedding on the other side of the world. Which my mum will be watching on TV. Whilst waving a Union Flag” he had added, wryly. 

Phryne giggled, “You know, your mum really does sound like she is excellent fun. You must introduce us sometime.”

Jack had no response to that. Phryne had seen a look on his face that she couldn’t quite place and silence fell between them. “They’re just my friends, Jack. Like Mac, or Ray.”

“And one of them is going to be our future King. Eventually.” Jack had sighed as he had spoken. 

“I’m not sure even Ray can raise himself that high” Phryne had attempted some sass. Jack had stayed silent and Phryne, sensing the need to try to alleviate Jack’s concerns had added. “they’re just like you and me.”

“They’re not like me” Jack had said, and Phryne had wondered if that was bitterness she was hearing. That was not the Jack she knew.

“We’re all just who we are, Jack. Life gives us twists, you know that. And honestly, Jack, the prospect of ever having to answer to Mac should scare you more” she was still trying for humour.

“I don’t think Mac’s that scary underneath” Jack had responded, and had had seen a flicker of a smile on the edge of his lips. 

“She’s not” Phryne had agreed, “but I never told you that” she had smiled then. 

“I should be going” Jack had said, removing his hands from his pockets and standing up. “Work in the morning.”

“Of course” Phryne had stood up too and followed him to the hall. They had moved out to her porch, Phryne pulling the front door carefully behind her. 

Jack had seemed even more wistful, “I’ll miss you” he had said.

“I’ll miss you, Jack.”

“You’ll be too busy to miss me” he had replied, moving his hands back to his pockets again. 

“I’ll text you. Or Facebook Message you” Phryne realised he seemed so sad tonight. “After all, how will you solve your cases without my valuable insight?” 

“We’ll just have to learn to struggle on by without you, Miss Fisher.”

“Phryne!” his refusal to use her name annoyed her. 

“Phryne” he had responded, and somehow the way he had spoken her name, so softly and with a slight crack in his voice, had sent a shiver down her spine. 

She had moved closer to him, and wrapped her arms around him. She had felt Jack freeze, but as she had refused to back down, she had felt his arms very tentatively move from his pockets and lightly rest around her back. Silence had washed over them before Phryne had leaned back against his arms.

“What are you thinking about now, Jack?” she had asked, with a small smile.

“Not thinking” said Jack, a low rumble to his voice. And then he had moved his right hand, taking her chin and holding it lightly. He had leaned down and then he had kissed her, oh so gently pressing his lips to hers. It had been sweet and innocent and when he had broken away almost immediately it had taken her a second to open her eyes. She had wondered if his eyes were slightly moist or if it was merely a trick of the light.

“Goodbye, Phryne” Jack had said, releasing himself from her embrace and walking swiftly down her front path. She had stood there, slightly in shock as he had got into his car and carefully driven away. And then she had gone back into her house, stumbled against the front door slightly and then had another drink. 

Something that innocent should not have made her feel like that. He hadn’t even attempted to use his tongue, and the whole thing had been over before her brain had really been able to register that it was happening at all. Perhaps it was just a goodbye kiss? That seemed reasonable. She was going away after all, and they were friends. That was what friends did; kissed each other goodbye. Yes, Phryne rationalised. Ray had kissed her when he had left that evening. Admittedly, that had been his usual ridiculously over the top smack to each cheek, but her point remained valid, she told herself. Mac had kissed her goodbye too. Mac had hugged her somewhat strongly before her usual brush to one cheek. Then she had smacked Phryne on the back before striding out of the front door. Yes, Phryne rationalised, it had just been a goodbye kiss from a friend, and the reason it had taken her by surprise was because that was not something Jack had done before. 

Nodding sagely to herself at her brilliant ability to have worked it all out, Phryne smiled brightly at the flight attendant as her wine was topped up once more. Phryne passed the rest of the flight enjoying a delicious meal, reading the in-flight magazine and watching a selection of instantly forgettable films and TV show episodes from the entertainment system. She was very glad to land in Singapore and began to make her way to arrivals to meet Simon.


	4. Friday 15th April - Singapore Sling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's sweating about how many rules he's breaking by chatting with Phryne on Social Media. Phryne's just sweating...

Tweet by @only1Phryne: **solid ground until Sunday! Hoping @Windy_Miller is on top form as usual! #Singapore**

**@only1Phryne it’s been too long! So looking forward to this. #HowBloodyLongIsTheQueueAtCustoms?**

**@Windy_Miller appears to be chaotic, but their uniforms are gorgeous! #DoLikeAManInUniform**

**@only1Phryne glad to see you haven’t changed! #HurryTheFUp**

Jack sighed. It had been a trying day. He was quite surprised when his phone buzzed with a notification. Good grief, where they still tweeting at each other? He frowned at the screen; the little Twitter Bird was not showing. His phone appeared to be indicating he had a message on Facebook. His phone did that? He thumbed through to the app, and realised he had a message from Phryne. Wasn’t she still queueing to get through Customs at Singapore Airport? He chuckled slightly; he wouldn’t put it past her to have turned her phone on before the plane door had even opened. He wondered idly what the delay was on the receipt of messages. He opened the app and saw her profile picture with the text next to it. 

_What’s the latest on John Andrews? How is Lydia doing? Any suspects? P_

Jack considered how to respond. HR were very clear that you were not supposed to discuss anything Force related on Social Media. It was judged inherently insecure and subject to very, very bad PR if confidential information ended up accessible to the public. Telling himself he was technically now working overtime, and therefore not in breach of any policies by checking his phone, Jack started to type a brief response. He could be messaging a wife or girlfriend or family member to tell them he would be late home. He could, he told himself. 

_Still waiting on preliminary results. Not any of the three ‘S’s’. Mrs Andrews much as you would expect. How is Singapore?_

He waited, looking at his phone. After a few minutes a speech bubble appeared next to her picture, indicating that she was typing a response. He continued to wait, swiping his screen back to life a few times when it faded to black. 

_Exceptionally hot and sticky – and that’s just in the terminal building. Ah, I’m next in the queue. TTFN, P_

Jack tried not to think about sweat trickling down Phryne’s brow, along her jawline, down her throat and trailing down her sternum. He tried not to think about one of her flighty blouses sticking to her skin, allowing him to see the outline of her well-developed arms and shoulders. He definitely did not think about Phryne shucking her blouse off to cool down. 

A noise from the Homicide floor brought Jack back to the matter of John Andrew’s murder. He quickly closed the tab on his PC that had the flight tracking site he had discovered, and which he had used to trace Phryne’s progress on this first leg of her journey. He turned his attention to going through what they knew so far. Which was remarkably little. 

Exasperated, he turned his attention to paperwork from other cases, tying up loose ends where he could, making some notes about thoughts which occurred to him on others, noting down some points to ask the Forensic Services guys when he could catch up with them. He fired off a few e-mails and glanced at the time. It was 7pm, and Jack decided he could still make the game if he left now. Feeling somehow guilty and resolving that he would do some more work after the game had finished, he shut his PC down and left the St Kilda Road complex, undertaking the short journey to the MCG by taxi.

After the fourth quarter his phone buzzed once more. That was a Twitter notification, and he saw that Phryne had managed to meet up with her friend:

Tweet by @only1Phryne: **Finally met up with @Windy_Miller. Now @raffleshotels (Singapore) bar to ease ourselves in gently!**

**Speak for yourself @only1Phyrne. I’m planning on us rolling onto the plane on Sunday – it’s going to be a long weekend!**

**@Windy_Miller it’s a marathon, not a sprint darling!**

Jack smiled, earning an enquiry from Tommo as to why the hell he was smiling given that sodding Collingwood had just beaten them soundly. Jack’s mate Dave, who didn’t often make it to games, had merely raised an inquisitive eyebrow. It occurred to Jack that Phryne would probably have said something flirty about ‘a sound spanking’. Well, if she was already celebrating, he may as well make her evening brighter. 

**@only1Phryne just to make your evening even better, the Magpies just whooped our backsides. Does that place do cocktails in black and white? #AFLRound4**

Jack put his phone back in his jacket and left the ground, arguing with Tommo and Dave about what changes the Coach should have made to the team line up and tactics. His phone buzzed again and he opened Twitter to discover a reply from Phryne.

**@callmeJack I thought I made it very clear where my allegiances lie?**

Attached was a photograph of a layered cocktail in a shade of red that he felt was supposed to represent maroon, and a green that was several shades lighter than Abbotsford’s was in reality, but he realised there were limits to the colours alcohol was available in. He was really not sure what to make of that, so he ‘favourited’ it in lieu of having to formulate a response. 

Bidding farewell to Tommo and Dave once they were outside the ground, Jack made his way back to SKR to put in a few more hours work. He eventually left at midnight, driving his BMW back to his apartment. As he briskly mounted the stairs he felt his phone vibrate once more. He recalled that Singapore was only two hours behind; he’d looked that up via Google as well. The thought occurred to him that Phryne’s night was probably yet young, and that he might have to put his phone on silent in order to get any sleep at all. Phryne’s latest tweet revealed that her and whoever this ‘Windy’ bloke was, had decided to stay at Raffles for Dinner. He let himself into his flat, pushing the front door firmly closed behind him, throwing his jacket onto the back of the sofa, his tie quickly following it. 

Jack closed Twitter and scrolled to his Facebook. Amongst the various posts from his mates bemoaning Abbotsford’s appalling performance, Phryne had been posting pictures of every cocktail. There had been a considerable quantity. There was also a picture of her on a balcony of the Raffles Hotel. She looked so happy and relaxed. Jack ‘liked’ that picture, trying not to dwell on the fact of how exclusive the hotel was. 

He carried on scrolling down and saw another post from Phryne. She was with a bloke who he took to be the friend she was staying with in Singapore. It struck him that it was rather similar to the photo she had snapped of them at the match. Out of a sense of intrigue Jack clicked through. The bloke had been tagged, “Simon Montgomery Beaufort-Miller”. Well that explained the ‘Windy’, but why was the guy’s profile picture some sort of cartoon character? Jack decided it was probably some sort of British thing. He was suddenly becoming very aware of quite how different an upbringing they had each experienced. 

This photo had been liked by a shockingly high number of people. The comments were mostly of the variety of ‘Windy!’ and ‘too long since you two were on the town together’. A small spark in the furthest recess of Jack’s mind noted that no-one had called this guy a ‘spunk’. Jack decided to ignore the spark. 

He closed the app and put his phone onto charge. Exhausted now by what had turned into a very long day, Jack quickly showered before collapsing into bed. 

In Singapore, Phryne was just finishing off a rather exquisite dessert course. She found herself unaccountably wishing that Jack was here to experience this. She shook herself free from her thoughts and went back to chatting animatedly with Simon about all the gossip she had missed out on in Melbourne. Well, there was only so much people ever revealed on social media, after all. It was 1am by the time they had finished catching up and returned to Simon’s apartment, where Phryne was staying until they both flew on to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all have those friends don't we, who have nicknames they acquired at school, or Uni which have just 'stuck'. And now people know them as much by their nickname as their real name. And the origin of the nickname may well be so convoluted that telling the tale raises eyebrows from those hearing it. Such is the tale of how 'Simon Montgomery Beaufort-Miller' is known as 'Windy Miller'.
> 
> The Beaufort Scale is an empirical measure that relates wind speed to observed conditions at sea or on land (thank you Wikipedia).
> 
> When Simon and Phryne would have been growing up in England, kids TV would have been showing repeats of 'Camberwick Green', a British children's television series, originally seen on BBC1, featuring stop-motion puppets (thank you to Wikipedia once again). One of the main characters is a chap who owns a windmill, and grinds corn / wheat. He also gets a little bit drunk on some good old country cider and passes out underneath his sails - it's one of those things that you don't really realise what's going on when you're a very young kid, but when you get to be a teenager or older you suddenly realise how terribly subversive your childhood TV programmes were! That character was called 'Windy Miller'.
> 
> Take the fact of Simon being 'Beaufort-Miller' and the fact that videos of Camberwick Green were released when Simon and Phryne were teenagers, and the fact that there probably would have been about 3 or 4 Simons in their friends group, and the nickname 'Windy Miller' has stuck.
> 
> If you would like to see a picture of Windy, either google it, or check out my tumblr post: http://aljwritesphryne.tumblr.com/post/112815479541/you-are-cordially-invited-chapter-4


	5. Saturday 16th April - Melbourne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack Robinson is not going down without a fight...

Jack sat at his desk, working through case papers for the John Andrews murder. His personal phone buzzed every so often, and he had been making an admirable stance of ignoring the notifications. Realising that it was now lunchtime, and that he was still making little real progress, he sat back, and picked up his phone. Tweets revealed that Phryne had been on ‘The Singapore Flyer’, which appeared to be a giant observation wheel, and had now made her way to The Singapore Botanic Gardens. It was, apparently, to be a quiet day, but with much fresh air, Phryne having spent most of yesterday on a plane. 

Well, thought Jack, Botanic Gardens he could do…

He briskly made his way up St Kilda Road, crossing the junction at Domain Road and heading swiftly into the parklands. He walked purposefully to the nearest entrance gate and into the Melbourne Botanic Garden. It took less than the same time again to reach the edge of the lake, and he quickly snapped some pictures with his phone’s camera. He decided he could allow himself a few minutes and he sat on a bench, watching the ripples on the surface of the lake. 

His mind wandered to this newest case. He had not mentioned Phryne to Mrs Andrews. She had been too busy crying for him to get much sense out of her at all. The staff at Mr Andrews’ business had not been able to assist much either. There were hints of some sexual harassment from the younger female staff, although they had not said anything specific, and some talk from the more senior managers that Mrs Andrews had taken an active interest, if not an active role in running the business. But the most perplexing thing was how he had died. He had not, as Jack had indicated to Phryne, been shot, stabbed or strangled. Perhaps it had been poison? Perhaps it was not murder at all, just an unfortunate and unexpected heart attack or something similar? Well, there was nothing he could do for now, he just had to wait for the Coroner to come back to him with initial results. Which, he concluded, would not be today. 

Jack wandered back to his office, helped himself to another cup of coffee from the break room, noting idly that it was not a patch on the coffee at Phryne’s house, and uploaded the choicest of his photographs to Facebook. He needed a really punchy description, but one that was also not too obvious.

_Sometimes it’s very easy to forget the beauty on your doorstep. Gorgeous day here today. (2.30pm)_

He posted the picture and packed up his files. It being a Saturday, most of the non-essential staff and officers weren’t working. Jack powered down his PC and decided to stop by his gym on the way home. He had the ANZAC Day race in a little over a week and it wouldn’t harm to get some training in.


	6. Saturday 16th April - Singapore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humidity and Cocktails are a heady combination...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whilst acknowledging that 'Melbs' is not an accepted abbreviation for Melbourne, I do think it is understandable, and probably the sort of thing Phryne would say.

Phryne and Simon had stopped in one of the many cafes situated within the Singapore Botanic Gardens. Whilst Simon dealt with paying for their light lunch, Phryne had acquired a window seat and had automatically reached for her phone. Nothing of interest on Twitter, although now she had dealt with the hangover she noted that Jack had ‘favourited’ her tweet with that red and green cocktail. She flicked to Facebook. She was somewhat surprised to see that Jack had not only made a post, but it had a photo attached. She smiled as she recognised the lake at the Botanic Gardens in Melbourne. How curious, she thought, that both of them had been in Gardens at the same time. The Singapore version was naturally very different. The common link, of course, was the British and their need to make every foreign land they conquered a reflection of ‘home’. 

Phryne was on her way ‘home’, but she was no longer sure that she felt that way about the UK. She had never meant to return to Melbourne, not permanently, but circumstances being what they were, she had found herself staying, and now she was already missing it. Phryne ‘liked’ Jack’s picture. She wondered if he had made any progress with John Andrews.

She opened the messaging app. 

_Any updates on John Andrews?_

She didn’t expect a quick reply. Who knew what else Jack might be getting up to on a Saturday afternoon? At that moment Simon came over to join Phryne. 

“They’ll bring the order over shortly. How’s the head now?”

“Better. I think there was a little too much Gin in those last drinks” Phryne smiled brightly. A waitress brought over their order and Phryne tucked into her food enthusiastically. Simon was making slower work of his food. His hangover had been less intrusive than Phryne’s, a reflection of the fact that he was used to the humidity, and, in the end, had paced himself slightly more last night.

Phryne’s phone buzzed and she immediately broke off from eating to check it. She smiled as she realised it was a message and her face broke into a positive beam when she realised it was from Jack. She frowned somewhat at the content of the message:

_Nothing at all I’m afraid. And until the Coroner comes back with anything conclusive, I can’t even say for definite that it’s a murder. Sorry_

_Well that will be a relief for Lydia. But sort of disappointing for us, I think?_

Simon watched Phryne with fascination. She had been glued to her phone for much of last night, and there had been one moment when she had turned to the bartender and excitedly ordered, really, almost demanded that he make her ‘something in layers, in red and green, and NOW, please’. Simon had no idea why Phryne had suddenly been animated. She had been somewhat quiet all evening, which was somewhat unlike her. 

“Who are you texting?” he asked as he poured the tea.

“Not texting” said Phryne, slightly evasively.

“All right, so who are you communicating with, via one of the many functions available on your mobile telecommunication device?” Simon had learnt how to challenge evasive Phryne.

“No-one.”

“Plainly not true.”

“Fine. Copper in Melbs. We work some cases together.” And with that, Phryne snapped her phone case shut. 

Simon nodded. He could tell when Phryne didn’t want to talk about something. He pushed her tea over to her. 

“Ok, I’ll let you off. For now. Now tell me all about this kid you’re looking after.”

Phryne put her phone down and beamed a wide smile. She spent the next thirty minutes joyfully regaling Simon with tales of Jane’s exploits; her friends; her school. He got an entire school report, he suspected verbatim, and it was obvious to him that Phryne had adapted to surrogate motherhood with aplomb. He wondered how much their friends back in England knew of this; the change it had brought upon Phryne and the marked difference it had made to her life. Oh, it was obvious from everything she said that she could still party with the best of them, but she never shirked her responsibilities, was always there for the girl. He hesitated to think it, and he would never dare speak the suggestion to Phryne, but it was almost as if she was settling down. She had always been so flighty; how on earth had some small Aussie city managed to hold her for the last three years?

Once they had finished eating, Phryne and Simon resumed their slow walk through the Botanic Gardens. That evening they dined in style, but restrained from quite as much booze. The early part of Sunday had been set aside for Tennis, and they were both somewhat competitive.


	7. Sunday 17th April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne's getting excited to reach London, Jack's getting melancholy, and his University education, whilst excellent, failed to impart to him how to read signals from women...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments so far. Please know that I want to respond fully to all of them, but in many cases that would involve diverging 'spoilers', and I would like to avoid that!
> 
> Is this chapter the first time Jack uses an emoticon? I believe it might be!

Phryne posted a photo of herself in Tennis Whites that had Jack wondering exactly how much luggage she had taken with her. Jack had really, really tried not to focus on exactly how much of her thigh was revealed by the shortness of the skirt. She had proudly tweeted that she and Simon had won a set each, and had then decided to call it quits.

Once they had recovered from their game, they had returned to Simon’s apartment. Phryne posted a link on Facebook:

“ _[The Clash – London Calling](http://youtu.be/EfK-WX2pa8c): Indeed darlings! Getting very excited now. Windy threatening to disown me if I skip through the airport!_ ”

As they had been waiting to board their plane, Phryne had continued idly thumbing through her Facebook and Twitter. Jack had not posted at all today, and she found herself wondering what he was up to. She decided to message him.

“ _Are you OK? You’ve been very quiet today?_ ”

She willed him to respond, even though she knew it was very late in Melbourne, and was pleased when she saw the little bubble that indicated he was typing.

“ _I am fine, thank you for asking. Quiet day. On call but no new cases :)_ _Your weekend looks like it was fun?_ ”

She typed back,

“ _It is so long since I saw Simon. We have had a marvellous time. Your photo of the Gardens was lovely. What took you there?_ ”

A pause again for their messages to bounce back to each other. Jack replied.

“ _I sometimes go there to think about cases. I was suddenly struck by the beauty of the place today, that’s all. Amazing what you sometimes don’t see, even when it’s right in front of you_ ”

“ _How very true. And now I must go again, the flight is being called. Enjoy the rest of your Sunday. xx_ ”

Jack tried not to overthink the two “x’s”. It was Phryne - she ended her tweets just the same. She was just a friend. He was absolutely fine with being her friend. He felt somewhat honoured that she even considered him that.

There was not actually any part of Sunday left for Jack, it had just gone midnight for him. That evening he had sat down and truly considered everything. He had decided, after several pages of notes and analysis, and he had to admit, the odd referral back to his old Uni psychology textbooks, that whilst he liked her, any attempt to read anything more into it was wishful thinking on his part. After all, Phryne was very direct, and she had made no attempt to seduce him. For his part, he was almost certainly still smarting from Rosie, even after all this time. He was projecting, with Phryne, and had somehow managed to over-read every single interaction they ever had. He was just glad he hadn’t made a complete prat of himself by asking her out or, making any sort of ham-fisted attempt at seduction. If she ever asked, he would rationalise the kiss on her doorstep as one of farewell. He enjoyed their banter, and would continue to do so, all whilst realising that she didn’t like him as anything more than a friend; and neither did he. He wilfully ignored the slight panging he could feel in his heart as he rationalised all this to himself. He just had to hope now that she had actually meant it when she had said she was coming back. He had been unable to sleep and had found himself idly scrolling through the channels on his TV when Phryne had messaged him.

He resolutely told himself, when he called up the Flight Tracker, and watched her flight into the early hours of the morning, that he was merely concerned for a friend.


	8. Monday 18th April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terminal 5 is indeed an awful place, despite all the glass and steel.

Tweet by @only1phryne: 

**T5 lovely, but LHR still hell on earth. HAVEN’T missed this!**

Jack smiled. He’d tracked the plane over Europe. It was early afternoon for him, but Google told him it was very early in the morning for Phryne. His knowledge of her lifestyle led him to believe she would not be dealing well with two early mornings in quick succession. 

He flipped open Facebook and messaged her. 

_Glad to see you’ve got there OK. Hope queues aren’t too long_

She messaged back a few minutes later.

_It’s Britain darling, they excel at queuing! Anything on John Andrews? Anything at all?_

_Ah. It’s like you’re psychic! Just got initial report from Coroner. Seems to be poisoning. Coroner going to run a few more checks before he confirms what, but it is looking more like murder. Sorry for your friend._

_Poor Lydia. Let me know updates as they happen_

Jack went back to his files. He now had the difficult task of confirming to Mrs Andrews that her husband had indeed been murdered, and he would have to re-interview absolutely everyone. He hoped the Coroner would have something which would help to narrow down the scope of his investigations – at the moment there were just too many options.   
When he got home Jack found that Phryne had posted a picture to Facebook:

_Mum!!!! :) :) :)_

The picture was with a woman who Jack realised bore a startling similarity to Phryne. It occurred to him now that for all the photographs and pictures Phryne kept on display in her St Kilda home, none of them appeared to feature her family. Jack ‘liked’ the picture.


	9. Tuesday 19th April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angry Jack is angry.

The time difference was such that it was already evening for Jack by the time she tweeted.

**Darlings! Little recovery day @TheMayFairHotel. “Jetlag Reviver package” an absolute godsend**

Jack noted that the Hotel mentioned had re-tweeted that. He wasn’t sure that updating her on the coroner’s report was really what she needed right now. He decided to make a rare general tweet.

**Suddenly feel like I’m living in an Agatha Christie novel #isit1929now? #SlightRage**

It was not until gone midnight that Jack received a Facebook message from Phryne:

“ _You can’t dangle a carrot like that, darling! What do you know?_ ”

“ _Cyanide! Cyanide poisoning. Excuse my language, but who the fuck tries to murder someone with Cyanide in 2011?_ ”

“ _Oh now I am sorry that I’m missing this. How’s Lydia taking it?_ ”

“ _They’ve had a go at her too – she’s in the RMH recovering_ ”

“ _Oh gods. And I’ve just realised it’s terribly late in Melbourne. Will let you get your beauty sleep. Send all my love to Lydia. P xx_ ”

And with that she was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Mayfair Hotel is a genuine hotel, they genuinely have a spa which does day packages, and that is genuinely their Twitter handle!


	10. Wednesday 20th April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's trying to get to the bottom of the Andrews case, but he feels like there's something he's missing. What he really needs is a consultant who knows the victim and his family. Shame his is on the other side of the world...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first point in this story at which Time Differences really start to become a factor. At this time in 2011, Melbourne was 9 hours ahead of London. 
> 
> 'The Ivy' really *does* have rules about the use of mobile phones!
> 
> FS is 'Forensic Services', they're the bit of the Victoria Police Force that deals with Crime Scene Evidence - CSI:Melbourne, if you will!
> 
> RMH - Royal Melbourne Hospital
> 
> I will assume that most people have heard of Vivienne Westwood and Alexander McQueen. Fenwick is a Department Store with two branches in London (one on Bond Street - where Phryne shops, and one at Brent Cross a North London situated shopping 'mall'). Fenwick is one of my favourite department stores - and the flagship store in Newcastle upon Tyne has amazing Christmas Window displays each year.

Jack awoke to find that according to a Twitter post from a few hours ago, Phryne was dining at somewhere called “The Ivy”. There were no pictures he noted, and a quick google on his laptop whilst he ate breakfast revealed that they had rules about the use of mobile phones. 

He noted that prior to that she had seen a production of ‘Chicago’, which had apparently been excellent. There was a picture on Facebook of her outside the theatre, smiling brightly. He really felt that he should probably stop ‘liking’ almost everything she posted, but she had now ‘liked’ his photo of The Lake at The Botanical Gardens, which had made him feel unaccountably happy.

Jack drove to SKR and continued work on the Andrews’ case. There was something about it that concerned him, something he could not quite put his finger on. John Andrews ran an import/export business. It appeared to be mostly dry goods, but within that, a great mixture of products. There was no obvious reason to why he bought the stock he did, and many of his managers had admitted to Jack, on a highly confidential basis, that they had no clue as to what the managers of the other divisions were in charge of buying or selling. It all seemed very ‘cloak and dagger’. Jack determined to try to look into the business more, and preferably before the extended long weekend distracted everyone’s focus. He wasn’t even sure if the business was related at all. Who were their social set? Had they annoyed anyone so much that a convoluted plan to poison them had been set in place? ‘Love’ or ‘Money’ were the two main motivators for murder, he knew that. ‘Love’ seemed to be off the table here, as both the couple were being affected, so that left ‘Money’. Perhaps then it was a business issue?

Jack really wished he had Phryne here to assist him. She would no doubt have a dazzling insight to offer, something that she would pick up from her understanding of the Andrews’ background and the circles they mixed in.

He flipped open his Facebook. There was a chance she might still be up. 

_I know I said you couldn’t solve a case from the other side of the world. But..._

That would reel her in he hoped.

_Are you officially asking for my help, Inspector?_ he could read the amusement in her tone.

_I am, Miss Fisher_

_Well luckily for you, Jack, I’m in my London ‘office’…_ and here she had attached a picture of her feet on some sort of footstool. She was wearing black trousers and what he noted were delightfully fuzzy slippers, shaped like tigers. There was a glass of what he presumed was whiskey on a side table, and a roaring fire in the background. It struck him that it was all very ‘Sherlock Holmes’. 

_Excellent slippers!_

_I can refuse to help you know_

_You’d never be able to resist the temptation_

Jack felt his confidence rising. He found it was surprisingly easy to lightly banter in writing.

_Hmm. You know me too well, Jack. Annoyingly. So, how can I offer the Victoria Police Force my invaluable assistance?_

_What can you tell me about John Andrews and his wife? What do you know about the business? It all seems very mysterious. Do you know anyone who would have a motive to want both of them dead?_

There was a pause; Phryne was obviously considering her answers. 

_Have you determined how the cyanide was ‘fed’ to them? That might give an insight to start narrowing it down?_

_FS chaps are testing everything they can think of now. It’s going to take some time to get the results back._

_Well, its cyanide Jack, I presume they’ve tested anything that smells of almonds?_

_You’d have to have a very acute sense of smell. And I’m not sure I want to ask FS officers to try to trace something by putting themselves in danger like that._

_Noted, Jack. I was at University with Lydia. Edinburgh. She did Business Management Studies. From what I gather, she doesn’t really work these days, helps John a bit, but mostly raises vast tracts of cash for various charitable funds in the city. It feels like she’s on every board in the city. And, I hate to speak out of turn, but utterly obsessed about her ‘weight’. Paranoid about ‘keeping her figure’, won’t even drink Diet Coke. And she’s as slim as anything. I worry about her._

_And luckily responding well to treatment. John Andrews? There’s quite an age gap?_

_There is. She’s his second time around._

Jack wasn’t sure how to respond to that. 

_Where’s the first Mrs Andrews?_ was the response he decided to go with.

_Sydney, I believe. So she’s probably not your killer Jack._

_Who divorced who?_

_I understand it was those rarest of things – an amicable split. I really don’t think she’s your killer Jack. Besides, what would she stand to gain? I understand there were no kids, so it’s not like she’d end up benefiting financially. Surely you asked Lydia all this already?_

_People lie_

_And I never do of course?_

_No, you’re brutally truthful_ Jack regretted that almost as soon as he typed it. This was, different, talking to her like she was there with him, when she was on the other side of the world. It was perhaps harder to indicate ‘tone’. _Sorry, that wasn’t meant to be an insult_

_I never thought it was Jack_

_It must be very late where you are, sorry. I should let you go. We can pick this up another time._

_When has it ever been too late for us Jack? And you have a case to solve._

_Thank you. London looks good. You saw Chicago?_

_It is. And we did. Mum and Simon and me. Very different to the film. It was very good. So was supper. And now we’re back at the Flat._

_Where’s the flat?_

_Mayfair_

_That’s pricey in Monopoly_

_It’s pricier in real life_

_I have no doubt_

_We just have the top two floors now. The rest has been sub-divided and we rent them out. Useful income. Pays the running costs of our bit; makes it viable. Why am I telling you this?_

_Because I have one of those fonts?_ Jack had no idea what he was doing, it felt dangerously like flirting. On work time. On his personal phone. This was breaching a lot of policies.

There was a pause then. _I don’t have one of those fonts?_ Jack was uncertain suddenly. 

_I’m sure you have a very nice font, Jack. Anyway, John Andrews. I’m sorry, but I don’t know him as much. He always struck me as slightly, incompetent?_

_Incompetent how?_

_In terms of the business. I know it’s afforded them a somewhat luxurious lifestyle, but I can’t really understand how the business has made enough to allow it. And John has never seemed to have any clue about how to manage people._

_Interesting_

_Maybe he’s better when he’s at work? I’ve only ever seen him in social situations. And he’s always seemed slightly uncomfortable then._

_Well, I’ll look into it. I’m going to see Mrs Andrews in the hospital again. She was pretty much out of it yesterday, hopefully she might be able to help me today._

_Good. And how are you, Jack? This feels strange, ‘talking’ like this?_

_I’m good. Yes, this feels, odd? How’s your mum? How long is it since you saw her?_

_Three years. It was all slightly emotional. There was a bit of crying. If you tell anyone that I’ll have your guts for garters! I didn’t realise how much I’d missed her until she picked us up at Heathrow. I’m trying to persuade her of the merits of a trip over there. If nothing else it’s years since she saw her sister_

_Mrs Stanley?_

_Yes. Although I’m not sure that’s the most persuasive argument I’ve ever tried to expound_

_I saw your picture. You look like her_

_Ridiculously strong genetics on the female line. I look nothing like my father. How’s your mum?_

_Still sewing bunting. She had me hanging the first twenty metres of it when I went for lunch on Sunday_

_Now that I would have liked to have seen_

_You’re very keen to meet my mum?_

_Well I’m very keen to discover more about the enigma that is Jack Robinson_

Jack was trying, very much, not to read anything into Phryne’s messages. But he felt that ‘I’m sure you have a very nice font’ could be construed as flirting? No, he was definitely reading too much into it all. 

_Well, maybe you can peel away my layers when you get back?_ Jack had pressed ‘send’ before he’d realised what he’d typed. That could definitely be construed as flirtatious. _Like an onion! With its many layers of rings, and skin, and things!_ he quickly typed in panic. He wasn’t actually sure that was helping. _Oh look, Collins has just got out of the lift – I must go and Detect something. And it must be very late for you by now. I wouldn’t want to undo all that good work from your jet-lag spa thing. Good night_

And with that Jack closed his app, shut his phone case and buried the device in his jacket pocket. 

“Still just no-one?” asked Simon, in the armchair closer to the fire. 

“Absolutely. Just that copper. He’s very keen on having my help. I’m of invaluable assistance.” Phryne downed her whiskey, “I’m off to bed, I have a hard day of shopping planned tomorrow. Meet me for lunch?”

“Wouldn’t dare to miss it. Call me when you’re hungry and we’ll meet up. Good night Phryne.”

“Night Simon.”

And with that Phryne took herself to her room. It was probably very bad of her to read back through the messages, she thought. But that last one! Oh, she could see the look of rising panic in Jack’s eyes as he would have realised what he’d said. She smiled slightly. As a friend, he was an excellent flirt. She liked him. And she was missing him. 

She scrolled absently through his Facebook Profile. The picture of The Lake and Gardens was really very striking. She clicked through to her own Profile, and on to ‘photos’. She scrolled back through the last few weeks of pictures. Good god, how much had she drunk at Raffles the other night? There was her and Simon, and there was her shot of the St Kilda foreshore, and there was the one of her and Jack at the football game. He looked so happy, and relaxed and his fingers were splayed wide around Phryne’s waist. Looking at the picture now she could recall the touch. It had been a cold day, but his warmth had brought a glow to her face. In this picture they were looking at the camera. 

Phryne closed Facebook and scrolled to her phone’s Gallery function. There was the picture she had posted; where they were both looking at the camera, but there were others too. One of him looking at her, one of her looking at him, and one that she didn’t even know how she had managed to frame, where they were both looking at each other. And suddenly, despite her assurances to herself that they were just friends and that neither of them felt anything more, Phryne felt a pang in her heart. She set the picture as Jack’s photo on her contacts list. She glanced at the phone, Jack had been right of course; it was very late now. She went to sleep, curled into a pillow, hugging it tightly. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack got home from work late. Lydia had been no real help at all. She had cried and wept and shrieked, especially when Jack had confirmed that her husband had been murdered, and that she appeared to be a target too. Then she had wept about the business, and how she would never be able to run it herself. Jack had asked if John Andrews had maintained Life Insurance, and that had prompted more tears. He had not, actually, been able to get a straight answer to the question. He had been emotionally drained by the time he had left the RMH, and Collins had looked absolutely exhausted. FS were still working on finding the exact item which had hidden the Cyanide, and were testing as fast as they could. Jack hoped they would get somewhere before the end of tomorrow. The long Easter and ANZAC day weekend would seriously deplete staffing levels, and he didn’t want this investigation to drag on relentlessly. 

He had a shower to wash the smell of the hospital from his skin. He never liked those places. He threw one of his mum’s freezer meals into the microwave and made himself a salad to go on the side. As he waited for the microwave to ping, he idly flicked to Twitter. It would be early afternoon in London by now he thought. His brain was becoming much quicker at the maths, but he still struggled at the extremes of the day. Phryne had tweeted:

**Darlings! Immense day of shopping! Credit Card will be weeping!** attached was a photograph of a large pile of shopping bags. 

He couldn’t see all of them, but he could see ‘Vivienne Westwood’, ‘Alexander McQueen’ and some green bags labelled ‘Fenwick’. He could see that Jane had replied:

**@only1Phryne – please tell me you’ve got me something cool? Please!?!?!?**

**@JaneR_ScienceFan! – maybe! If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise #BackToYourHomeworkYoungLady**

**@only1Phryne – Oh, I got an ‘A’ on my Science Essay! :)**

**@JaneR_ScienceFan! – excellent work J, we will discuss rewards later. And in private! P xx**

Jack switched to Facebook. Phryne had posted there too:

_And here’s one not for the Twittersphere: (1.30pm)_

Underneath was a picture of a very expensive looking navy blue bag. The words embossed on the side read ‘Rigby & Peller’. 

Jack didn’t know what that was. He flicked on his laptop as the microwave pinged. He sorted out his food and made his way to the sofa. The laptop had booted up and he googled ‘Rigby & Peller’. Dear god! His eyes practically leapt out of his head. It was a lingerie store. A very top-end lingerie store. He opened Facebook on his laptop. There were now comments underneath the post:

_Liz Mac: (Wednesday – 10.35pm) Och aye? Who’s the lucky recipient?_

_Phryne Fisher: (Wednesday – 1.37pm) Calm yourself Mac. You should know by now that I dress for myself!_

_Liz Mac: (Wednesday – 10.39pm) Oh but I bet you’ve got someone in mind._

_Simon Miller: (Wednesday – 1.42pm) Oh I’m with you Liz. Definitely someone in mind!_

_Phryne Fisher: (Wednesday – 1.44pm) Hush now Windy!_

_Liz Mac: (Wednesday – 10.45pm) Windy, message me with the goss!_

_Simon Miller: (Wednesday – 1.48pm) Will do!_

_Phryne Fisher: (Wednesday – 1.49pm) What ‘goss’? There is no ‘goss’!_

_Jane Ross: (Wednesday – 10.52pm) Eugh, this is *so* embarrassing._

_Phryne Fisher: (Wednesday – 1.55pm) I can reconsider that reward Jane!_

_Jane Ross: (Wednesday – 10.58pm) Actually, I already have an idea for that. Can you call me?_

_Phryne Fisher: (Wednesday – 2.00pm) Will do when it’s not so late your end – now turn your phone off and go to sleep!_

With a rising sense of guilt, Jack changed tabs back to the lingerie. He really, really should not be doing this. He quickly scrolled through some pages, decidedly not imagining Phryne in the items shown. He closed the tab, opening up the official page for Abbotsford in one new tab, and the page for his cycling club in another. He googled ‘Phryne Fisher’ in a third. Other than the various appearances in the social pages of The Age and The Argus and The Herald-Sun, there was nothing much. She was mentioned on the Wikipedia page for her father’s Baronetcy, but he had re-read that over the weekend. He flicked back to Facebook. Her post was still at the top of his feed. He had another shower to cool down.


	11. Thursday 21st April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phryne takes a trip to the British Museum, Jack reveals a little of his plans for the forthcoming long weekend, and you, dear reader, get to meet Phryne's mum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Forum Cafe, alas, no longer exists (as at 2015), but it was a delightfully down-market cafe opposite The British Museum, on Great Russell Street. I've had lunch there - it wasn't bad. It was also considerably cheaper and considerably less rammed with people than any of the restaurant options in the museum itself would be.

Jack had spent a frustrating day trying to find any clues, any insights whatsoever in the John Andrews case. He was desperate for matters to start becoming clear before everything ground to a halt. He spent much of the day at John Andrew’s business premises, re-interviewing the staff.

He now found, on the second time around, and with the presence of a female Constable, that there was much to the sexual harassment rumours than he had been able to determine the other day. A number of younger female staff members spoke of being uncomfortable around Mr Andrews. One had, very tearfully, admitted that he had attempted to force himself on her at the Christmas Party some four months earlier. The girl had been too scared to say anything for fear of losing her job without being given a reference. Jack could only imagine the courage it had taken for the girl to turn up to work every day.

When asked why she had not gone to the Police, the girl had wailed that she had thought she would not be taken seriously, and that Mr Andrews was too well connected for a conviction to ever result. Jack had grimly admitted to himself that it was probably true. It was not a situation Jack could condone, and it was unfortunate therefore that he now had to make her a Person of Interest in his investigation. He hoped he would be able to eliminate her from his enquiries quickly. And he hoped the girl would be able to find a job elsewhere. He had hinted to her that now would perhaps be a good time for her to start applying for other roles, given that Mr Andrews would no longer be in charge of the reference situation. The girl had thanked him, understood his difficulty, whilst stating that she had not killed him (although Jack mused, very few murderers ever admitted it straight away), and had left the room still crying.

 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

By the time he got home, he was as emotionally drained as he had been the day before. He opened his laptop and realised that ‘checking in’ with Phryne was becoming a habit. There was a Tweet from her:

**Dahlings! Spending some of today @britishmuseum – always loved the Middle East and Ancient Egypt galleries**

Other than that, she had been quiet. Jack moved to Facebook. It was late morning for her, which probably explained the lack of posts. He decided to message her.

_Hello. How is/was[the museum](http://www.britishmuseum.org/)?_

He didn’t really expect a reply. At least not yet.

_Trying to adjust the body-clock for next week, so been up early! Now having lunch in a bit of a greasy spoon across the road before we go back for round 2!_

As he was reading the message, another update came through. It was a picture of her, holding a menu for something called ‘The Forum Café’. It looked as if it was at the opposite end of the spectrum from ‘The Ivy’. She was pointing at an item on the menu; she appeared to be having a BLT. Her hair was loose, flowing freely around her shoulders. He was so used to seeing her with it pulled back. And she was dressed quite casually he noted.

 _I hate to have to tell you this, but it seems John Andrews was not the nicest of men_. _I will refrain from telling the details, but it is not pleasant._

_Ah. Does Lydia know?_

_Not as yet. She’s still under observation._ Jack was not looking forward to the conversation where he had to tell Mrs Andrews that her murdered husband had assaulted a member of his staff.

_Are you OK?_

Jack started to type ’I’m fine’, but thought better of it. He could always find comfort in Phryne’s counsel. Or distraction in her raucous tales.

_I have had better days. So tell me about your plans for the weekend. I am sure you have a whirl of parties and events?_

_Some. I am attending the Legacy ANZAC Ball tomorrow night – they always have it on a Friday before the actual day. That’s at the High Commission on The Strand. There will be dancing! Saturday we travel early to the country before there is Polo in the afternoon, which will be terribly exciting. People I haven’t seen in an absolute age. We stay there until Monday then we come back to London. I suspect two days in the company of my father will be too much, but maybe things have changed. You? Exciting plans for your very long weekend?_

Jack tried not to think about ‘travelling to the country’, as if that was an everyday happening.

_My plans are perhaps not as interesting. In between work there will be lunch at my mum’s on Sunday, with all the family. After that we will hopefully make it to the game, which is at the Etihad, which is a pain. Much prefer The G._

_We?_

_Family outing. Desperate attempt to instil loyalty to Abbotsford into the younger generation_

_Well good luck with that :p_

_You know, for someone who doesn’t follow the sport anymore you’re terribly harsh about my team_

_Because you are so cute when you defend it. Anything else planned?_

_Early on Monday I have something_.    Jack knew he was being deliberately vague. He was also somewhat distracted by the ‘cute’ remark.

_Something for ANZAC Day?_

_Sort of. Nothing military_      He was reluctant to tell her about this, it was something he told very few people about, since he had got back into the sport post-Rosie.

 _You’re being very mysterious Jack?_  

He could practically see her eyebrow rising in interest.

 _And you’re being remarkably restrained in not doggedly harassing me for an answer._  Jack had a suspicion that her restraint would not last.

_And I feel my reward should be that you tell me anyway._

Jack paused. She would find out somehow. If his sister turned up and took pictures and posted them on Facebook then Phryne would almost certainly see them.

_Fine. I have a cycle race_

_Tell me more, Jack. I knew you liked cycling, but I didn’t realise it was this serious. Do you race often?_

_Not as often as I would like, but I usually manage the ANZAC Day Race._

_If you ‘usually’ manage that one, how do you do?_

_OK. I’m not bad_.

_What’s not bad?_

_Last year I came second_.

Jack was still slightly annoyed by that. He had led for quite a lot of the way round, only to have victory snatched from him with the finish line in sight. He had slightly calmed his annoyance by telling himself that he had been beaten by someone ten years younger than him, and that second was not to be sniffed at.

 _What does one wear for cycling?_ Phryne messaged.

Jack groaned. This was why he had not wanted to mention this to her.   

 _There might be lycra involved. Please don’t be laughing_.

Phryne was very far from laughing. The thought of Jack in body hugging lycra was giving her some distracting thoughts. Admittedly, she was having to be very imaginative, having only got him to remove his suit jacket, and that with great reluctance, on a handful of occasions.

_I assure you Jack, I am very definitely not laughing. And as much as I would very much like to continue this interrogation, I can see our food on the way, and my mother is starting to raise queries about who I am ‘talking to’. So goodbye for now._

_Enjoy your Ball if we don’t ‘speak’ beforehand_

_I will. xx, P_

As the waitress brought their food orders over, Lady Fisher could not help but be intrigued by her daughter’s attachment to her phone. And the broad grin which had fixed itself across her face a few seconds earlier.

“Phryne dear, what are you doing on that phone?” Lady Trude Fisher was a quiet woman, who continually worried about her daughter’s future.

“Nothing, Mother. I’m just, sort of talking with someone in Melbourne.” Phryne didn’t really want to have to try and explain Facebook Messages to her mother. Technologically savvy she was not. It was a wonder they even had wi-fi in the flat.

“Is it a boyfriend dear?” Phryne felt her anger beginning to rise at her mother’s enquiry.

“No! Why does everyone have to be a boyfriend?” That was probably unfair, she felt. Her mother knew, for example, that Simon was not a boyfriend, although Phryne wondered how much of that was related to the fact that he lived in Singapore.

“I’m sorry dear. And you know my enquiries will be as nothing compared to your father’s.”

“Mother!” The unfairness of it was that this was true. Her father would grill her over her ‘prospects’, and probably try to convince her of the merits of some bore whose father he knew.

“He’s just worried about you. Wants you to have someone looking after you.” Phryne was charitable enough to recognise that her mother was concerned about her, and cynical enough to realise that her mother was deliberately having this conversation in public where Phryne would be unable to create too much of a scene.

“I don’t need anyone looking after me.”

“Everyone needs someone looking after them. And your father and I wouldn’t object to grandchildren.”

Phryne wanted to batter her head against the wall. “Mother! I do not want a boyfriend. And if I were you, I would stop holding out hope for grandchildren.”

“You’ll change your mind.”

Phryne groaned, she had been hearing that for the last fifteen years. Why could people never accept that she had absolutely no desire to bear anyone a child? “I’m thirty-five, mother. And besides, I have Jane to look after now.”

“But that doesn’t really count, does it dear?”

And with that, Phryne was enraged. She took a long, slow, deep breath and attempted to compose herself. Speaking through gritted teeth she replied, “It does to me. I may not have done the first twelve years, but I have done the last three, and I think I’m doing OK. I think Helen would approve. And Mac; Liz, has been a great help.”

“Oh, the Lesbian!” her mother spat out the words as if Mac had two heads.

“Mother! That is rude.” Phryne was absolutely fuming. She needed to stop this conversation before she said something she would regret.

“You will never find a nice young man whilst you cavort around with bohemian types” her mother attempted to reach out a consoling hand.

Phryne pulled her hand away and cut her sandwich into smaller parts. “In which case, mother, I shall continue to ‘cavort’ with whosoever I choose. Now I would like to eat my lunch, the coin collections are calling my name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have shamelessly nicked the result of the '2010' ANZAC day cycle race from what appears to have happened to Nathan Page (the actor who portrays Jack) in a cycle race a few years back. He appears to have been in the lead until the final few hundred yards when he was overtaken by someone who was considerably younger than him. Sorry Nathan :( but thanks for continuing to pursue your interest in cycling, and to the ladies at Every Cloud for throwing in the reference at the end of the long date in Queenscliff - it is gold to fic writers!


	12. Saturday 23rd April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack tries not to get in any deeper, Phryne gets a little maudlin, and Phryne and Simon Go To The Country.

Jack had determined that he would not spend time obsessively googling Phryne’s name. He had told himself that most sternly. It was really not his fault, he told himself, that when he put ‘Ph’ into the google search bar, it auto-completed with her name. He really did not mean to click onto the ‘News’ results he told himself, as he did so whilst eating his breakfast.

The pictures from the Ball were up. The friend, Simon, had been her escort. There were pictures of them arriving at Australia House. He was in a tuxedo and Phryne was in the most amazing dress. A deep blue colour, it had a slashed neckline, with a ‘V’ that cut down deeply into her cleavage whilst somehow being tasteful. The sleeves hugged her arms to just below her elbows. The dress nipped in at the waist before skimming her hips and then falling out into what the caption told him was a ‘fish-tail’ design. Her hair, which was swept up on one side had what was described as a ‘fascinator’, in the same shade of blue, trimmed with red and white. There appeared to be five jewels on the fascinator, which was pictured in close up in an inset, and a sharp-eyed journalist had realised that this was supposed to represent The Southern Cross. Well either that or the journalist had had it explained to them by Phryne herself. Jack suspected the latter.

Also in the same report were pictures of the High Commissioners from Australia, New Zealand and various other countries, some Ambassadors, and various representatives from the military and veterans associations. All of the Military representatives held ranks so high that Jack could barely comprehend them. There were pictures from the event itself, not just the arrivals. There was one of Phryne dancing with one of the said high ranking military chaps. Jack felt a disturbing pang of jealousy. Which, he berated himself, was ridiculous.

Jack would never have dreamed of attending such an event. He had looked at the prices, just idly, no real reason, he told himself. And then he had done some maths; the tickets for Phryne and Simon had cost the equivalent of a month’s mortgage on his flat. He appreciated, of course, that there was a charitable element to the ticket price, but it still astounded him. Why was she even his friend? They were from such different worlds. Despondent, Jack turned his laptop off and headed out of his flat to his gym.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

In London, home relatively early (for her) and surprisingly sober, as the next day promised an early morning, Phryne fiddled with her phone. She had found herself wishing Jack had been at the ball; wishing he had been the one twirling her around the dance floor. Phryne was not sure why her mind was imagining such a concept. She was not sure why she was missing him so much. Phryne decided to put it down to the after effects of jet lag. Jack was familiar, and friendly, and safe, and London seemed somehow more aloof than she recalled: less friendly even than she had braced herself for. She slid her fascinator from her hair and tossed it onto her dressing table. She took a picture and decided to message it to Jack.

_I miss being under the real stars of The Southern Cross. Wish you were here. xx P_

She pressed ‘send’, turned her phone off and went to bed. What she needed, she determined, was some good country air. And possibly a little distraction. She fell asleep exhausted from the dancing.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

As he came out of the gym, Jack turned his phone on. He read the message, looked at the photo and found himself having to lean against a wall for a moment to compose himself. There was absolutely no coherent response he could make to that. He was missing her, more than he had thought he would. She was just a friend; just a friend he told himself. It was all she would ever be, all she could ever be.

She had posted a picture to her Facebook of what was described as

_The London Flat – as you’ve all asked so nicely_

It was a five or six storey building that was also double fronted. He swallowed heavily. He lived in a converted laundry. He headed to SKR and distracted himself by digging into the records of John Andrews’ business, thankful for his time in Fraud which had taught him how to examine financial records and pick up on anomalies.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The journey had been mercifully quick. Which given Phryne’s aching head and feet was a relief. Lord Fisher had greeted his daughter with a warm hug, and had seemed pleased and relieved to see her. He had asked about Melbourne, and his sister-in-law and his nephew, and had even asked about Jane. Phryne had settled herself in her old room, and looked through her clothes which still hung in the wardrobe. It was like she had just stepped out for five minutes, not three years.

She flicked through the dresses and skirts and tops and trousers, and located her clothes for the afternoon. Perhaps, she thought, she should arrange for the rest of her belongings to be sent to Melbourne? There were another three years until Jane was eighteen, and University would probably be in Australia. And Phryne was finding she was enjoying the country of her birth more than she had thought she ever would. It occurred to her that Jack was a part of that enjoyment. She tried not to dwell on those particular thoughts.

She had gone for a very quick ride around the grounds, to get familiar on a saddle again before the afternoon’s activities. Her father had ridden alongside her, pointing out the projects he had been working on in the estate’s parklands. He had actually been fine, until luncheon, when it had all started up as normal.

“So Phryne dear, have you a boyfriend in Melbourne?”

“No father, I do not.” She had tried to remain calm.

“Lord Melville’s middle boy, John, has decided it’s time for him to settle down.” Lord Fisher had carefully buttered a bread roll as he began his attempt to extol the virtues of his neighbour's son.

Phryne had snorted at the thought - John Melville was an ignorant oaf and a bore and a drunkard, and Phryne could only assume that parental pressure was the compelling factor in his sudden wish to settle down.

“He would be very good for you Phryne. And if you were quick about it you could manage two or maybe even three children.”

Phryne had stabbed her fork through the tablecloth at that suggestion. “I will not be a baby factory for any man, let alone John Melville.” She had hissed the words and ground her teeth in anger.

Her father had quietened down whilst their plates had been cleared and dessert served, but had started up again soon after.

“He is prepared to overlook your already advancing years, your frivolity, the frankly scandalous suggestions regarding your behaviour and your involvement with that teenager.”

Phryne had taken a second to compose her vitriol. She knew it had been too much to hope that she would be allowed to live her life without attempted interference. “Father, I have no interest in marriage, to anyone, let alone John Melville. And ‘that teenager’ is called Jane, as well you know. And I would never be involved with any man who could not accept me for who I am, and a mere ‘overlooking’ of my many ‘flaws’ is not acceptance, father.” Phryne tipped back her cup of tea, stood from the table and swept out of the room.


	13. Saturday 23rd April - Gloucestershire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gentle reader, may I respectfully present Prince Henry Charles Albert David of Wales. You probably know him as 'Harry'.

The tweet contained one word:

_**POLO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
** _

And a photograph of a huge expanse of grass. Jack had googled ‘polo’. He wondered whether Phryne was playing, or merely watching. He had discovered that the teams could be made of men and women, and he suspected that Phryne would be very eager to be involved in a game which used massive mallets to hit the ball. It was a little bit violent, within controlled circumstances, and very fast-paced. It was the perfect game for Phryne, Jack thought. He went back to his work.

 

Phryne was terribly excited. She had not managed to get around to investigating the options for Polo in Melbourne, and she had missed the exhilarating thrill she got from the game. Even more excitingly, a huge number of her friends were going to be at The Beaufort, and she was looking forward to a thrilling afternoon and evening catching up with everyone. She had been snapping pictures of herself with everyone she had run into. There was almost no phone reception of course, so she had posted nothing as yet. She would go on a posting spree when she got back to the house.

On the other side of the crowd, she spotted Harry. It was not done to holler at him, no matter if she had known him since he had been barely a toddler. She watched him for a minute and he eventually looked around. He caught her eye and waved brightly. She waved back enthusiastically, as Harry made his way over.

“Phry!” Harry exclaimed, throwing his arms around her, “how the hell are you?”

“Oh Harry, it is so good to see you. How’s Wills? Nervous for next week?” Phryne lent back in his arms. She had missed Harry greatly.

“He’s hidden away in the armpit of North Wales working. He’s left Kate to get on with it all. She’s doing marvellously well though. But how are you?” Harry was not letting her go from the embrace.

“My father is being his usual annoying self, but I am good.” Phryne could not stop the smile forming on her face.

“And how is Australia?” Harry was also smiling brightly.

“Better weather than here,” Phryne replied with a slight tilt of her head.

“Even in Melbourne? And are you running some sort of Detective Agency?” Harry had a twinkle in his eye.

“Have you been keeping an eye on me Harry?” Phryne lightly brushed his shoulder in jest.

“Always Phry.” Harry smiled with a cheeky grin.

“I am. I sort of, inherited it. I keep it ticking over.” Phryne tried not to boast about her work, but she was quite proud of the fact that she had managed to keep Helen’s business afloat. It had not always been easy.

“Excellent. You’re riding today?”

“Yes, first match, just four chukkas, but I’m dreadfully out of practice.” Phryne had wrapped her hand around Harry’s arm.

“Good work. I won’t delay you then. I’ll see you out there,” and with that, Harry squeezed her once more before moving on.

In the bushes on the far side of the pitch, the photographer with the telephoto lens started looking through his shots. He had no clue who the woman was, but his editor would bloody love it. A nice bit of speculation in the run up to the wedding was just what was called for.

The match lasted just under an hour, and Phryne’s team had been victorious. Simon, who had come along for the fun of it all had been snapping pictures on Phryne’s phone. There was one particularly good one of her just after she had scored a goal. There was a huge grin on her face as she looked over her shoulder. Simon Blue-toothed that one to himself so that he could guarantee it would end up being posted. You would hardly know she was out of practice, and she had handled the ponies very well.

Phryne was making her way back to the Club House to shower and change when Harry caught up with her. They were protected from prying eyes by the rows of supporters who were already building up their excitement for the next match.

“Good match, Phry,” Harry said, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

“You too. That last goal was a cracker,” she replied as she threw her arm around his waist.

“You seem awfully exhilarated,” said Harry, speaking low into her ear.

Phryne paused her steps, turning to face Harry.

“Well a good game does get me all hot and sweaty. You know that, Harry.” Phryne knew what came next; what always came next with her and Harry. But they had rules, and checks needed to be made.

“You’re single?” she asked.

“I am. You’re up for it?” Harry countered.

She nodded, “and you have...protection?”

“I do. You taught me well Phry.” Harry grinned cheekily.

“Well then,” said Phryne, “it has been far too long, Harry” she practically smouldered at him.

“Indeed it has Phryne. See you in the showers in ten” and with that Harry had sprinted off ahead of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I must have a brief word about real life versus fiction. In real life, Prince Harry had a girlfriend in 2011. For the purposes of this fic, she just doesn't exist!


	14. Sunday 24th April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday - a day of rest.

Jack had a busy day planned. There was lunch at his mum’s, and then the family was going to try and make the match. Abbotsford were playing North Melbourne, and Jack was hopeful for a win. They really needed to leave his mum’s by half past three in order to guarantee getting to the Etihad on time. Jack had no doubt there would be more bunting to deal with before they could leave the house.

Feeling slightly masochistic about it, Jack opened Facebook. There was a picture of Phryne looking fabulous. She was red faced and slightly sweaty, but the smile on her face was possibly bigger than anything he had ever seen. He could see that the picture had been posted by Simon. Phryne had commented underneath:

_Thanks Simon – Amazing afternoon. Exactly what I needed_

Jack decided to ‘like’ the photo. There was another message notification. He opened the app, it was from Phryne, and was a picture of the biggest stately home he had ever seen. He supposed there were bigger, but this was unbelievable. It was obviously set in large grounds, and Phryne had taken the picture from far enough away that several large trees could be seen lining what he supposed was the ‘drive’.

_If you thought my house in St Kilda was ridiculous (and I think you do), have a look at where my parents live. Quite a change from a 2 bed bungalow in Collingwood and large enough to avoid my father if I need to. Which is often._

He had to reply to that somehow.

_That lawn must take some mowing_

was the reply he decided upon.

It was gone midnight in England, and Jack supposed Phryne would be in bed. He snapped his phone shut, left his flat and got in his car to drive to his mum’s. He just hoped his phone wouldn’t buzz whilst he was having lunch; he really did not need an inquisition. 


	15. Monday 25th April - ANZAC Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's got a cycle race, Phryne's got trouble brewing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, remember how Jack had a case he was working on? He should really work on solving that...

Jack was up early for his cycle race. In the end, Sunday had been a good day. Lunch had been mercifully stress-free, and his mum had not tried to suggest anyone who he could ask out. The family had made the match and Abbotsford had actually won. Only by nine points, but a victory nevertheless.

He had returned home to a message from Phryne:

_We use sheep! So a little like Australia! Good luck in the cycle race. xx P_

 

 

He readied himself at the start line of the race, waving to his sister who had brought the kids to watch their Uncle Jack race. She already had her phone out and he smiled as she held it up in front of her. He had a brief discussion about tactics with his team mates, and they sussed out who the major competition was. The steward called them all to order, and then they were off.

Jack made a good start, the cheers of the crowd driving him on. He was sure he heard his nephew and niece hollering as he went into the second lap. He found himself taking the lead, his team mates following behind to support him and hold off the challenge of the riders from other clubs.

As he went into the last lap he had a good lead, but he refused to ease off the power, mindful of the end of last year’s race. He was more driven to win than he could remember feeling for years. His thighs burnt as he cornered into the last ascent, pushing himself from his saddle and driving down into the pedals of his bike. He rounded the last corner and carried on dynamically powering through as his muscles seared. He risked a glance behind him. He could see the gap between him and his team-mates lengthening, and saw that they were encouraging him on. He powered over the finish line, pedalling fiercely all the way before sitting up to relish his victory.

He was sweaty and exhausted and he had not felt so alive in years. His sister ran over and snapped a picture of him. Then she shoved the kids towards him, and took another shot. The kids looked vaguely miffed, which he presumed was due to his sweatiness, but they congratulated him all the same. His club had made a clean sweep of the placings and Jack and his team mates hugged each other excitedly as they savoured their victory, congratulating the other riders as they finished.

After that there was a prize-giving ceremony, for which Jack had changed into normal clothes. His sister snapped some more photos. Once everyone had started dispersing he had looked through his sister’s phone and got her to send what he felt were the best photos to his phone. He hugged her and the kids, strapped his bike to the back of his car and drove to the Station.

He had no need to be in work today, but with the adrenaline still pumping he felt like he could make inroads into his case. A set of results about the source of the cyanide had come in from FS. Whoever had worked overtime on that, and especially this weekend, he definitely owed them a beer. He could bend the rules this once. As he sat down at his desk and looked over the figures he had a sudden flash of inspiration. He looked again at the ledgers, and suddenly, it all slid into place. He made a phone call, updating the officer who answered on the breakthrough. He would make the arrest shortly; his perpetrator was going nowhere.

Before he requisitioned a Force vehicle, and went to make his arrest, he had one more act to perform today. He went to the station changing rooms and changed into a work suit, slicking down his hair with the gel which he kept in his locker. It had got somewhat wild during the bike ride, and he felt the need to be as smart as ever when he performed his arrest.

It was dusk now, and he walked briskly across the road to the Shrine of Remembrance. He never went to any of the official ceremonies; it felt like it was not his place. But he always came, every year, to pause for a moment to recall his grandfather, who had served in The Second World War, and survived and made it home, and further back, a clutch of Great-great Uncles who had gone to Gallipoli as young men and never returned. There were a few others at the memorial, quietly paying their respects, and Jack stood and observed the wreaths, freshly laid that morning. He was not a man given to demonstrating his emotions, yet Jack felt a tear forming. All those young men; cut down in their prime. If he had been born in a different time, it could have been him. He looked up, grateful as ever that for all the ills in the world he had been born in a more peaceful time. After a few minutes more reflection, Jack turned away and walked back to SKR.

 

 

There had been little resistance to the arrest, in the end. She had wept and wailed, and he had run through the evidence he had deduced, and she had cracked. When he had told her of the assault of a staff member, she had not been in the least surprised. He wondered if it had been the tipping point. Had Lydia Andrews murdered her husband after his interest in the office girls had become too manifest?

It turned out, she was also rather better at running the business than she had made out. She had a small number of the managers working for her, rather than her husband, and they had been importing knock off goods which they had been selling on for a huge mark-up. The figures in the books had been all wrong for what the goods had been recorded as and Jack had seen glimpses of what appeared to be high-end products when he had looked around the business. It occurred to him that the girl who had been assaulted had shown him some of those boxes and he smiled that she had achieved some measure of retribution, however ineffective, and however small a consolation it might be. Jack was well aware that the poor girl would bear the psychological scars for the rest of her life, he just hoped she was strong enough to be able to move on somehow.  

John Andrews had been persisting in trying to buy and sell goods which no-one seemed to want, leading to huge losses on the areas of the business that he ran. Lydia had tired of his incompetence and his attentions towards the female staff and had sought to remove him from her life. Knowing that she would not receive any interest in the business in any divorce, she had decided that John dying would be the easiest option. The Life Insurance Policy which did, after all, exist, would not go amiss either.

But the clincher had been the combination of the FS results, and a comment made by Phryne. The Cyanide had been in the sugar, but Lydia had been obsessed by her figure, and had therefore, Jack concluded, deliberately dosed herself with just enough Cyanide to make herself ill, but not enough to kill her, knowing full well that it would distract the police from her as a suspect. If it had not been for Phryne and her knowledge of Lydia’s paranoia, and her business skills, he might never have deduced that Mrs Andrews was the killer.

Having spoken with the hospital staff, Jack had determined that Lydia was recovered enough to move to Deer Park. He formally arrested her, arranged the transfer papers and waited for transportation to arrive. Once that had been finalised, he had returned to SKR to process the necessary paperwork.

 

 

It was very late by the time Jack returned home. It was so late that it was technically Tuesday. He threw his bag of clothes on the floor, tossing his suit to the ground as he stripped off and had a long shower. Emerging feeling at least slightly human Jack felt he deserved a beer. He fired up his laptop as he sat on the sofa. He really wanted to see if he could speak to Phryne. It had been one heck of a day.

Jack wondered if any reports of her polo match had been published anywhere and googled her name. The number of articles he saw returned as results was astonishing. He clicked through to the first one, from The Daily Mail. He knew that was a British paper.

Jack looked at the photos first, there were a number of shots, plainly from earlier that weekend at her Polo Match. Phyrne was wearing what he deduced to be riding gear. She was hugging Prince Harry.

Jack had to take a moment to let that sink in.

It was, it turned out, one thing to have the abstract knowledge that Harry and Phryne were friends, and quite another to actually see it. And he was wrapped around her. Well, she was wrapped around him too. And the smiles on both their faces. Jack took a deep breath and looked to the headline screaming from the page:

**_Oi, Oi, HARRY – WHO’S YOUR LADY FRIEND?_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Deer Park" is 'Deer Park Metropolitan Women's Correctional Centre', now the 'Dame Phyllis Frost Centre', the only women's prison in Victoria for all medium security, maximum security, and protection prisoners. I figure it's where Lydia is going to be detained.


	16. Monday 25th April - ANZAC Day - part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack's late night confusion is slightly cleared up by Phryne.

**_Oi, Oi, HARRY – WHO’S YOUR LADY FRIEND?_ **

 

Jack swallowed nervously and carried on reading:

_Pictured at the Beaufort Polo Club, Glos, yesterday (Saturday), Prince Harry eagerly meets up with an unknown woman. Our photographer observed the pair embracing each other heartily before the start of the day’s matches. He said ‘they were all over each other. Harry looked absolutely delighted and the woman could not stop smiling’. Prince Harry is currently single, but rumours have been spreading that he may be looking to secure his future and marry._

_Our research has discovered the mystery woman to be the Honourable Phryne Fisher, 35, daughter of Lord Desmond Fisher, the 7 th Baron of Blackheath, whose Baronial estates neighbour those of Highgrove House, the Gloucestershire home of Prince Charles and the Duchess of Cornwall - a property still frequently visited by Prince Harry, now 26, who grew up there. _

_Daily Mail reporters have discovered that Miss Fisher returned unexpectedly to Melbourne in Spring 2008. Melbourne, Australia, is where Miss Fisher was born and spent the first ten years of her life, before a bizarre twist of fate following an entirely unexpected series of deaths brought her father to the Baronetcy. Since 2008, Miss Fisher appears to have taken over the running of a detective agency; ‘HR Detection Services’. When we attempted to contact the offices of the agency for a comment, we could not obtain a response._

_Miss Fisher has both a Facebook Profile and a Twitter account._

_Little can be gleaned from the former, and none of Miss Fisher’s friends would comment when we approached them for information about her. A perusal of her Friends list however shows that she counts many members of the aristocracy and the upper classes amongst her social set. Her current ‘Cover Photo’ on her Facebook Profile appears to show a beach scene, identified by our experts as that of St Kilda, a suburb of Melbourne._

_Miss Fisher’s Twitter account suggests a party-heavy lifestyle, with numerous references to ‘drinks soirees’, some somewhat lewd comments about Australian sportsmen, and, since her arrival in London earlier this week, reveal a spending spree, dinner at The Ivy (the exclusive haunt of celebrities and socialites) and an extravagant day at a Spa in Mayfair._

_Miss Fisher was just 10 years old when her parents emigrated from Australia to the UK, and insiders say that the family struggled to adapt to their changed circumstances in their first years here. We have further learnt that Miss Fisher knew the late Diana, Princess of Wales, and that the two became good friends, despite the fourteen year age difference between them. As a consequence, Miss Fisher has known Princes William and Harry for most of their lives, and is in the country to attend the wedding of Prince William and Catherine Middleton this coming Friday._

_We could find no-one who was willing to comment on the nature of the relationship between Miss Fisher and Prince Harry, but could our playboy Prince be about to settle down?_

Jack stared at the screen. Had Phryne seen this? The other articles returned from his google search were broadly reprints of this one. No-one seemed to have tried to contact Phryne for a comment. He opened Facebook and Twitter. Her most recent Tweet was actually serious:

 

**Wherever we find ourselves, we should never forget #ANZAC2011**

 

Attached was a photograph of a war memorial, which an inspired google search revealed to be the Australian War Memorial at Hyde Park Corner in London. There were wreaths, and Jack realised that there must have been services in London today as well.

He switched to Facebook, skipping straight to Phryne’s profile. There were photos from the polo. He realised that they all had restricted privacy settings, and he scrolled back down her Wall, observing for the first time that many posts had a little cog wheel symbol next to them. He hovered over the symbol - apparently that meant it was a ‘custom’ filter. Jack had only ever got as far as restricting posts to ‘Friends Only’, and that only after he had been on a Force training course on Social Media use which had flagged up the dangers of public posts on security grounds.

Jack cautiously opened the Messages Page and typed:

_Phryne?_   _Are you there? Are you OK?_

He sat back against the sofa and considered whether he was doing the right thing at all. Was it just normal for her to be in the papers when she was in the UK? It wasn’t something they had ever talked about. He knew she very occasionally gave press interviews, usually in connection with one of the charities she was involved in. She had told him that it was one of the few advantages to her title – using the profile it afforded to bring attention to causes and issues which might otherwise be overlooked. But this was quite definitely not that sort of article. This seemed much more salacious in tone.

It was mid-afternoon in London; she would be out doing something he thought. Just as Jack was considering powering his laptop down and going to bed, an answer appeared;

_I’m fine, Jack, why wouldn’t I be?_

_I’ve just read a newspaper article about you. I was concerned._

_Oh? Link?_

Was Phyrne’s reply, which came quickly.

Jack copied the link and pasted it into the message box. He sat and waited, finishing his beer and retrieved another from his fridge. She had still not replied. He was pondering checking to see whether his sister had posted any of the photos from earlier when Phyrne responded.

_Ah, The Daily Mail. Reporting complete fabrication as ‘fact’. If you read that very carefully Jack, what they have is some pictures of Harry greeting a friend – me - at the Polo. He was hugging lots of other people as well. But I’m a bit of an unknown quantity after being away so long, I guess. And they’ve had the opportunity to print some pictures of Harry, and refer to Diana, which they love to do. Which isn’t fair. And if you read it, they are very careful to avoid actually saying anything concrete. There isn’t a thing there that isn’t true_.

_Were you unhappy when you moved there?_

Jack hated to think of her being lonely as a child.

_Well it was a culture shock. Unhappy would be too strong, but they’ve probably spoken to someone from the estate who we had to lay off. Or they’ve just made it up – which they do. Frequently. It will be tomorrow’s chip wrapping, but I’ll e-mail Dot and let her know not to give any response other than ‘no comment’. So, thank you_

_You’re not angry are you?_

Jack hoped he hadn’t managed to distress her. He had obviously completely failed to analyse the article fully. He had no idea that newspapers would just make things up.

_Not angry with you Jack. Anyway, how was your day, how was the bike race?_

_I won_

Jack smiled at the memory. It seemed so long ago. He retrieved his winner’s cup from his bag and placed it carefully on the bookcase which lay along the side of the lounge.

_That’s fantastic. Congratulations. Pictures?_

_Erm, hang on, I’ll have to fiddle with my phone_.

He picked his phone from the kitchen work-top and looked through the pictures. He decided to go with the one of the prize giving; it contained decidedly less lycra, which he still didn’t really want to show her. He worked out how to upload it to the message app on the phone and pressed send, returning to his laptop. The picture had added itself to the bottom of the message chain.

In London, Phryne, who was having afternoon tea at The Dorchester blinked repeatedly. This was plainly from after the race. He was wearing normal clothes. There was decidedly less product in his hair than usual and it was almost curled in places. There was also absolutely loads of it. How the hell had he been hiding that? He must be using the strongest gel known to mankind when he was at work. He was wearing jeans. And they hugged his backside to perfection. She couldn’t see much underneath the leather jacket, whose existence was also surprising, but the legs and hair were enough.

Phryne was having tea with her friend Claire. Phryne pressed the photo, allowing it to fill the screen of her phone.

“Claire, just, objectively, tell me what you think of this chap.” She turned the phone to her friend, who sucked in her breath.

“Oh please tell me that You Are, with him. Because he is as hot as anything. God, I can only imagine the joy of running one’s fingers through that hair.”

“As can I. And We’re Not,” she looked at Claire, who raised an eyebrow. “He’s a colleague. Of sorts. I’m just not used to seeing him dressed like that. It’s a bit surprising.”

“What are they putting in the water down there? And where can I get some? I don’t know how you do it Phryne; gorgeous men just flock to your side.”

Phryne reduced the photo’s size and typed a reply to Jack.

_Well done :)_ _And the case? Or is it too much to hope for with everyone on holiday?_

_Ah. I’m afraid to say it was Lydia. She tumbled to it after I presented her with the evidence. And I have to thank you; I wouldn’t have been able to put it together without your help_

Jack felt slightly awkward about telling Phryne. The Press Statement hadn’t been released yet. He felt he could trust Phryne not to say anything, but he still felt guilty about breaking the rules like this.

_Oh dear. But a good result. Do you get a day to relax now?_

_Probably not. A late start, but other than that…_

Jack sighed in resignation. There would be an enormous amount of paperwork. He hoped someone would be able to step up and run the Andrews’ business. For all its faults it employed a fair number of people, and jobs were not easy to come by.

_By the way. When Jane gets in touch with you, please say ‘yes’_

_To what?_

Knowing Phryne as he did, this could be nothing good. He hoped it wouldn’t be anything embarrassing.

_I’ll let her explain. But please agree. It was one of my conditions. Anyway, I am at The Dorchester with a friend, and I am sorely neglecting her. xx P_

She urged Claire to move around, and snapped a quick photo, adding it to the end of the message before she shut her phone case. She turned to Claire, “Now, tell me about this new project you’re starting. In your e-mail you said it was for wells in Africa?”

 

Jack smiled at the picture. Phryne had a glow about her, and Jack was pleased that the country air seemed to have agreed with her. There had been no mention of her father, which he took as a good sign.

Jack looked at his own Facebook. His sister had posted a selection of photos from the race, tagging him in them. He decided it was time to update his profile picture, which had been taken at the end of a shift one day. He fiddled about with the picture of the prize giving, cropping it and moving the position until he was as happy as he was going to be with his effort. His friends had liked and commented on some of the other pictures, congratulating him on his victory. He smiled, liked some of the comments, responded to some others and finally powered down his laptop. It was almost Two am, and he collapsed into bed as the adrenaline of the day wore off and exhaustion overtook him.


	17. Tuesday 26th April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane has been very well trained by Phryne. Very well trained indeed...

Jack woke at Ten am to the gentle insistence of his phone ringing. He peered at the screen through blurry eyes. The caller ID read ‘Jane Ross’ and Jack hurriedly sat up to answer the call.

“Jane?” he asked.

“Inspector? I’m sorry, have I disturbed you?” the teenager asked, politeness oozing down the phone.

“No, no, not at all. I had a very late finish to a case last night that’s all.”

“Ah.” There was a slightly awkward silence.

“Are you all right? Is there anything wrong?” Jack hoped he wasn’t actually going to have to arrest any teenage boys.

“I am fine, thank you. I wanted to ask you something.” There was hesitancy in her statement.

“Go on.” Jack recognised that tone of voice. It was the tone Phryne used when she was going to wheedle something out of him that he didn’t want to give.

“I don’t know if you saw, but I got an A on my science essay.”

“Yes. Well done.” Jack felt like it was the sort of thing he should say.

“Thank you. Phryne says I can have a reward. So I’ve asked her if I can have some friends round on Friday to watch the wedding and have Pizza and stuff, and she said that it’s fine, but she wants you and Liz there to like, chaperone or something. And Liz says she will if you will. And you can watch it on the telly in the kitchen, we’ll be in the lounge, and we’ll be really good. I promise. And I was thinking that Dot and Hugh and Ray could maybe come too, to keep you and Liz company.”

Jack paused. “Are you suggesting a Royal Wedding party?” He asked, cautiously.

“Sort of. Maybe. But like, there won’t be bunting or anything lame like that.”

Jack chuckled, despite his better intentions. “And what time will this whole affair be starting?”

“Well we’ll probably start from four. Which is when Dot and Mr & Mrs B can be in charge. Liz finishes work at five. Ray might come early, and then leave, and then come back, or he might come later and stay through. Apparently he has to be a bit flexible. Are you in work on Friday?”

“I am. I finish at around six, cases permitting.” He was definitely being stitched up.

“You mean if no-one gets murdered inconveniently?”

The girl was very blunt. Another Phryne factor he wondered? “Yes.” He replied, the nervous cough in his voice making itself evident.

“So? What do you think?”

Jack recalled Phryne’s message to him last night. Plainly she and Jane had already discussed this matter. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder exactly which of them was stitching him up, or whether it was a joint effort. “Fine. Yes. Do I need to bring anything?”

“No. We’ve got one of Phryne’s Credit Cards for the pizza. But, like, could you wear something other than your work clothes. I don’t want my mates to think I hang out with daggy grown up’s.”

“Absolutely, of course. Wouldn’t want to embarrass you.” Jack felt a sense of dread beginning to rise within him.

“No, that’s Phryne’s job. Thanks Inspector.” Jane was being cheeky now. He could practically hear the smile on her face, and he realised he had allowed himself to be wrapped around her finger somewhat easily.

Jack sighed, “You should probably call me Jack. Everyone else does.”

“Thanks Jack. See you just after six on Friday.” And with that Jane hung up.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Jack checked his Facebook only occasionally, noting that Phryne had liked all the pictures of him from the cycle race. Her Twitter had been quiet all day, barring one post:

**Dahlings, ‘hot yoga’ class. Amazing! Feeling both flexible and relaxed!**

Jack permitted only a brief consideration of Phryne’s flexibility to flit through his mind. He allowed himself to finish work on time, and went home to inspect his wardrobe for ‘non-daggy clothes’.


	18. Thursday 28th April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like to imagine Jack has an ongoing relationship with IKEA...

Over breakfast Jack made his now daily pilgrimage to Phryne’s Social Media accounts. On Facebook she had posted pictures of Dinner at the Savoy, a programme from The Royal Opera House and a Dinosaur at the Natural History Museum. That last one had been funny – she had stood in front of the skeleton and recreated its pose.

On Twitter there was a post from last night.

 

**Dahlings! Off to a little charity drinks reception #LBDalert!**

 

Attached was a picture of her in what he supposed was a cocktail dress. The neckline was similar to that of the dress from the Ball last Friday, but was very definitely veering away from ‘respectable’. He could clearly see the outline of her breasts as the ‘v’ of the dress skimmed across the delicate mounds. The dress clung to her curves all the way down her body before sweeping out slightly as the hemline skimmed the floor. Just in case an observer had somehow failed to be drawn to her cleavage, there was a glittering necklace draped around her neck, a large stone hanging from it which rested on her breastbone. Her hair was gathered up in a ponytail which somehow managed to look elegant. Jack resolved that he really had to stop looking at these pictures. It was not good for his blood pressure.

He reminded himself that it was a terrible idea to check Google, but by now he had set up a Google Alert for her name and the results were a number of pictures from the reception. She was with Simon and another woman, ‘Claire Forsythe-Boyce’ according to the caption. How did Phryne know quite so many people with double-barrelled surnames? And each part of everyone’s names sounded so posh. ‘John Robinson’ suddenly sounded like the plainest, most boring name in the world. He tutted to himself; it could only be worse if his surname had been ‘Smith’.

This was obviously a more private event than the ANZAC Ball; there were no pictures from inside the reception. The captions told him that the evening was being run for charities that Prince William and Prince Harry were involved in, and there was a picture of the two of them arriving in tuxedos. Then there was one of Phryne and Harry hugging again, and what appeared to be air-kissing. Jack scanned the article, there was some questioning of the fact that Phryne had seemingly appeared from nowhere and been seen ‘with Harry’ twice in less than a week. Jack smiled to himself. He could see now what Phryne had meant about them making things up. There was absolutely nothing in the article other than unsubstantiated wonderings and suggestions. He wondered why they did it. Was it just to sell papers? And did anyone believe it? Surely, if people knew it was made up, actually read the articles and saw that there were precious few facts in them, they should just dismiss them? Jack pondered that of course, human nature was rarely so clinical, and that people loved gossip.

Having established that most of the guests were either excessively wealthy, or members of the aristocracy, or both, Jack pushed the laptop across his coffee table and sat back against his sofa. Which was from IKEA. He groaned. These people had probably never even heard of the place. He could not imagine that reasonably priced furniture which you assembled yourself was even in their purview. He had idly Googled Phryne’s parents’ “house” after she had sent him the picture on Facebook. There had been some magazine features over the years, and they opened some of the house to the public throughout the year. Most of the furniture appeared to be older than Melbourne itself; he had a suspicion that some of it had been in the ‘house’ since before Captain Cook had set sail to find Australia. He estimated that the whole of his flat could be dropped into the ‘Grand Hall’ with space to spare.

He was just a plain man, with a plain name, with a plain flat, in a plain part of Melbourne. How in the world had he ever managed to delude himself that he and Phryne were in any way alike? Jack prised himself from the comfort of his sofa and left for work.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

He returned home to read the series of Tweets he had ignored all day:

 

**Dahlings: so glad gyms do Day Passes! #What?DidYouThinkThisBodyJustHappens?**

 

**Dahlings: treadmill, cross-trainer, cheeky spin class, pool, sauna, excellent! #VirginGymMayfair**

 

Jack had already seen the pictures of Phryne at polo last weekend - he now knew exactly what she looked like when she was sweaty, and he did not need any further fuel for that particular fire. He swallowed heavily.

 

**Dahlings: turning myself over to care of professionals. Hair, nails, etc**

 

She had attached a picture of her hand to that one. It appeared she was part way through a manicure. He supposed that she would actually have to put her phone down whilst they finished the process.

He moved to his bedroom, checking his clothes for tomorrow. Not that he was bothered by what teenagers thought, but he would rather avoid ridicule if possible. He folded the garments neatly into his gym bag, placing it by the front door for the morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, the dinosaur in the main entrance hall of The Natural History Museum is shortly to be shuffled off into a storage area. A ruination for those of us who grew up on repeated airings of 'One of Our Dinosaurs is Missing'.


	19. Friday 29th April - Melbourne, afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, the day has arrived...

It was just gone Three PM, and Jack was in his office, working through yet more paperwork. Collins had been compiling reports for one of their ongoing cases, and Jack was having to check and cross-reference the reports. The lad had done a good job. Jack could see that Collins was going to be a very good Detective, but he also worried that long-term exposure to the horrors of the job would corrupt Hugh’s soul. He worried that Collins was just too, well, nice for it. He was so determined to see the good in everyone. Oh to have the optimism and hope of youth, Jack mused.

His phone buzzed on his desk. He opened the Facebook Message app. He could see the message was from Phryne and he pressed the screen to read the note.

_Fuck me_

Jack nearly choked.

_This is early_  

Followed a minute later.

_Mid-afternoon here_  

He replied, praying that no-one from HR would choose this moment to do a routine walk around his department.

_Six bloody AM here_

_Why so early?_  

Jack thought the service didn’t start till eleven.

_Because The Abbey opens to us at 8.15am, and it’s First Come First Served. I’m desperate for a good seat!_

_And a lady requires time to look her best?_  

Jack worried that he might be straying into personal territory.

_Indeed Jack. The day itself may be a military operation, but that is nothing as compared to getting a woman ready for such an occasion_

_Oh yes. I have observed the effort expended for such days. Smaller scale of course_

Jack briefly recalled his own wedding day. There had been flurries of activity at his house from very early in the morning. He had learnt later that Rosie had been out of bed since Five AM. She had looked stunning, but he wasn’t sure why she had had to get up quite so early for a Four o’clock wedding.

_You’re going to mine, for Jane’s party tonight?_

_I am. I have been instructed to ‘wear normal clothes’. I feel I am being stitched up. And I am slightly in fear of a mass of teenage girls._

_Use Mac as a barricade ;)_

_You have stolen my battle plan!_ _Please do not tell the enemy camp!_

_Your secret is safe with me Jack. And now I must go and start my preparations. Who knows, maybe you’ll see me at the Abbey?_

And with that, she was gone again.

 

At Five Thirty Jack’s phone buzzed with a text message:

**_Hi Jack. We’re going to order pizza soon, what do you want? Let me know, we figure there might be a delay on delivery. Jane_ **

 

Jack thought for a moment before texting Jane back. 

He felt uncomfortable with not taking anything to the, what was this exactly; a party? A mass wedding watching? An evening with some friends? Him acting as a babysitter? He decided he would just make the best of it he could. And at least he wouldn’t have to stand up for the British National Anthem, as his mum would insist on doing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we move into territory of 'this really happened'. Westminster Abbey did open to the guests at 8.15. Whilst it seems that people were 'allocated' to sections, but within them, it was up to you to fight for where you wanted to be!


	20. Friday 29th April - Melbourne, evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You may have been wondering exactly why Jack is quite so reluctant to risk his heart. You can count on Mac to ask those sorts of awkward questions for you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains 'info dump'!
> 
> In 2011, attitudes towards homosexuality in the developed world have, thankfully, moved forwards somewhat. Not entirely, but enough for Mac's life to be a lot less 'scandalous', and a bit more open. But the spectre of your best friend disapproving of your significant other lingers no matter the era!

At Six PM, Jack closed his PC and walked down to the Locker Room at SKR. He had a very quick shower and got changed into his ‘normal clothes’. He looked at himself in the mirror. He was fairly hopeful that he wouldn’t embarrass Jane. He had decided on jeans, a T-shirt and his trusty leather jacket to finish the whole thing off. He was also quietly optimistic that he might be able to get away with hiding in the kitchen for most of the night.

He left the station and drove to Phryne’s house, a sense of dread rising as he got closer. It felt very strange to go to Phryne’s house without her being there.

He parked his car, noticing a Channel 7 branded car on the other side of Phryne’s Jag. He rang the front door bell and ran a hand through his hair, patting it down. He wondered whether he should have put some gel on it to replace that which had been washed away in the shower. Well, tonight was supposed to be casual, he didn’t want to look like he’d gone to a lot of trouble.

Mr Butler answered the door, “Ah, Inspector Robinson. Jane said you had agreed to join us. May I offer you fortification via the medium of extremely strong liquor?” The older man smiled at Jack with a twinkle that suggested he was not entirely serious.

“It’s not going to be that bad is it? How many of them are there?” Jack tried to peer into the lounge, but could not see past the door frame clearly.

“Well it’s difficult to say, Sir, given that they don’t appear to be able to sit still for more than thirty seconds at a time, but I believe I have admitted eleven of Jane’s friends to the house so far. May I take your jacket, Sir?”

Jack always felt it was odd when Mr Butler called him ‘Sir’. He had become used to the term at work, where it felt appropriate to his rank and experience, but at Phryne’s house it always seemed slightly like he was walking into a relic of living history. The fact that Phryne called him ‘Mr B’, and that he was a Butler called ‘Mr Butler’ did not help Jack’s discomfort. Jack also knew that the older man would always look genuinely distressed if Jack refused his assistance, and had over time almost become used to it. He dug his wallet and phone out of his jacket pockets and pushed the wallet into the front left pocket of his jeans, choosing to hold onto the phone. He handed the jacket to Mr Butler, who received it with a broad smile and hung it, on a hanger, in the cupboard under the stairs.

Jack passed along the hallway, pausing as he reached the double doorway that led into the lounge. He quickly glanced around, assessing the situation as if it were a crime scene. The large flat screen TV, mounted on the chimney breast above the fireplace was broadcasting the wedding, but the sound had been muted. The buzz in the room fell to silence as twelve teenagers simultaneously paused their frenetic activities and turned to look at him. Jack felt like a rabbit in the headlights.

“Hi Jack. Thanks for coming. Pizza should be here soon. Grown-ups are in the kitchen. Mrs B is on at least her third sherry!” Jane called out from the sofa underneath the window. She was doing something on her iPad. Jack had noticed that everyone in the room had some sort of phone or tablet or even laptop.

“Hi Jane.” He turned to the room, “Hello” he said broadly, to everyone, flashing a quick smile, as he felt the teenagers appraising him. He heard the lens of a camera snap from the far side of the room and quickly flicked his head towards the sound. The photographer was a red-headed girl who leaned out from behind her phone before hiding behind it once more. Next to her a giggle erupted from the mouth of a girl who he knew to be Ruth; Jane’s best friend. She had been round a few times when he had been having supper with Phryne. “Right. I’ll be in the kitchen then. If you need anything, Jane” he turned to the girl again, to discover she had renewed her focus on her iPad.

Jack turned and moved back into the hallway but could not stop himself from hearing one of the girls speak,

“Oh my god, who is he? He is totally hot.”

“Shut up Rach! For a start, he’s ancient, he’s like, thirty-five or something” Jack recognised the second voice as belonging to Ruth. He tried not to feel bitter about being described as ‘ancient’. He supposed it was all relative.

“And secondly, he’s Phryne’s” Jack heard Jane cut across her friend, interrupting her. He froze in his steps.

“That is so not fair” said the voice he presumed to belong to ‘Rach’. He needed not to listen to this. As the chatter returned to raucous levels he quickly moved to the kitchen.

The huge plasma-screen TV was showing footage from UKTV and Channel 7, thanks to its ‘Picture in Picture’ function. The volume was low, but loud enough to be heard. The pictures at the moment were mostly of guests arriving at the Abbey, guests in the Abbey being shown to their seats, and guests in the Abbey talking to each other. There was a laptop open underneath the TV on which Sky News was running.

Mrs Butler was sat in the far corner of the kitchen. She had a bottle of sherry besides her, and a china tea-cup which was fooling nobody. Mac was sat on one of the stools at the counter top, swinging gently from side to side. She was slowly and deliberately peeling the label from a beer bottle as she glanced at the screen. Her phone rested on the counter top in front of her.

“Doctor MacMillan” greeted Jack, smiling at the small woman brightly.

“Inspector Robinson” replied Mac, setting her bottle down and offering a firm hand-shake, “although if we are to get through this unscathed, you should probably start calling me Mac.”

“Jack” replied Jack, acknowledging the crossing of a line. “Have you been here long?” he asked, settling himself on a stool further along the counter.

“About this long” said Mac, holding up the half empty bottle. “I am trying to pace myself, I have no clue how long the little terrors will be up for.”

“How have we got talked into this?” asked Jack, as Mr B entered the room, moving over to his wife and kissing her hair line gently. She squeezed his arm lovingly, never moving her gaze from the screen.

“Because Jane has had three years of training from Phryne. We stood no chance.” Mac replied, taking another swig of beer.

Jack tilted his head in agreement. “Where are Miss Williams and Collins?”

“Dot was here, apparently Hugh is on a three-line whip from his Nan, so she went over there just after I arrived.” Mac explained.

“Can I offer you a drink Sir?” asked Mr B, moving towards Jack.

“Well, if we are to be here some time, perhaps a glass of wine?” enquired Jack. He knew he could always get a taxi home if he needed to. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He didn’t really want to spend any part of tomorrow having to retrieve his car from St Kilda. Mr B busied himself with his task, producing a glass of perfectly chilled white Chardonnay and placing it in front of Jack. “Thank you Mr Butler” Jack said. “Good evening Mrs Butler” Jack added, towards the housekeeper.

“Hello dear,” Mrs B replied, waving a hand in his direction.

“So why is there a Channel 7 car outside?” Jack asked Mac quietly.

“Because Ray is here. He’s just outside having a ciggy.” Mac waved a hand towards the back door.

“Is he working later then? Jane said he might be coming and going?” Jack took a sip of the wine, it was really quite excellent.

“He is. You?” Mac enquired.

“No, off until Sunday. You?” Jack returned the enquiry.

“Off until tomorrow evening” Mac confirmed, “and I had been so hoping for an urgent bowel operation to present itself.” She smiled in that way she did that perpetually confused Jack as to whether she was being serious or not.

“Can I ask, when you came past the lounge, did you hear them say anything about you?” Jack was still processing the ‘hot’, ‘ancient’ and ‘Phryne’s’ remarks.

“I believe I may have heard the word ‘dyke’ being used. Although I did hear Jane berating whoever it was who uttered the word. What did you get?” Mac looked at him as if to suggest that he should be honest. He wondered whether Phryne offered training to all the women she knew to perfect that expression?

“Apparently I’m ancient” Jack decided this was the least problematic of the comments he had overheard.

“I’m practically a dinosaur, apparently. Although Jane did look apologetic when her friend used the term,” Mr B offered, buffing a glass which had been drying on the draining board.

Jane bounced into the room. “Right, Phryne says I have to take a picture of you. To prove you were both here.”

Jack and Mac looked at each other. Jane waved her hand to indicate that they should stand together. They both stood up.

“In front of the TV please, then she can see I’ve not taken it some other time” Jane spoke, fiddling with the settings on her iPad.

Jack and Mac shuffled reluctantly towards each other, turning to face Jane who had moved to face the TV. “Well look as if you’re at least a little excited!” Jane implored.

Jack smiled at Mac, “should we hug?” he asked.

“I’m game if you are Jack” Mac said. She casually threw her arm around Jack’s shoulder. He felt compelled to mirror her action, leaning against the counter-top as he did so. They both smiled as Jane snapped away.

“Oh my gosh, look!” Jane squealed, pointing at the TV screen. Jack and Mac turned to see what Jane was excitedly reacting to. Jack gasped; the cameras in the Abbey had picked Phryne out from the crowd.

“A lady there with a terribly impressive hat” the commentator was saying. Phryne turned, facing the camera directly. Jack felt his composure falter. She looked stunning; her dress was perhaps more conservative that he had been expecting. It was red, nipped in at the waist, and with a flared A-Line skirt that appeared to have some sort of netting underneath that gave it ‘bounce’. She was wearing a cream short-sleeved bolero jacket, cream elbow length gloves and red heels, which were slightly lower than her usual towering stilettos. Topping the whole ensemble was a huge hat. It had a very wide brim, and the base red colour of the hat was trimmed with swirling patterns in cream. Feathers and sparkling jewels cascaded out from the point where the brim met the crown. Jane continued to snap pictures of Mac and Jack watching Phryne.

“Wow,” said Jack, his jaw hanging open slightly.

“Oh that’s just the day dress. You should see the one for tonight,” said Jane, with a wink.

“Have you seen it?” asked Mac, “I thought it was a state bloody secret!”

“I begged her to show me. It’s _amazing_ ” Jack noted that Jane elongated the end of the word in precisely the manner Phryne would have done.

“Tag me on those photos please” said Mac, nodding towards Jane who had turned her attentions back to her iPad.

“Will do” murmured Jane.

Jack reached for his phone. Deciding to ignore how much it might cost, he typed a text message.

 

**_You’re on TV. You look amazing. Jack_ **

 

Mac noted Jack’s furtive typing and raised an eyebrow. As they both moved to resume their seats Ray came into the kitchen. A petite woman, who Jack had not met before, followed him in.

“Jack! You’re here!” Ray exclaimed. Jack smiled as the two men shook hands. Ray slapped him on the back as they parted. Ray had moved past formality with Jack on the first night they had met, although Jack had taken a little longer to overcome his natural sense of reserve.

The petite woman moved over to sit next to Mac. “Kate, this is Jack,” Mac indicated.

“Hello, Jack Robinson,” said Jack, offering a handshake.

“Kate Devlin,” replied the woman.

“Grown-ups look this way please,” said Jane. The four of them looked towards her and she snapped some more shots. Jane turned and took a couple of pictures of Mr and Mrs Butler as well. “I’ll shove these up in a minute,” she said, absently, as she wandered out of the room.

“Are you another friend of Phryne’s?” asked Jack, turning to Kate. “How many of us have been roped into this thing?”

“Ah, no, I’ve never actually met her” said Kate, sheepishly, “but she sounds like quite a firebrand.”

“She certainly is. Your life will never be the same again,” said Jack, confused as to who exactly Kate was.

Mr B placed a glass of the excellent wine in front of Kate. “Thank you Mr Butler,” she said, looking as if she was entirely at home with the concept of staff.

“Kate’s my girlfriend,” explained Mac, reaching for Kate’s hand and squeezing it lightly.

“Oh,” said Jack, “and how long have you two been...” he gestured awkwardly.

“About,” Mac looked at Kate as if for confirmation, “six months?” Kate nodded as Mac smiled girlishly, an expression which Jack thought he had never seen on Mac’s face before.

“How have you managed to be seeing each other for six months without Phryne finding out?” interjected Ray, taking the coffee proffered by Mr Butler.

Mac shrugged her shoulders but looked slightly smug.

“Are you working later?” Jack asked Ray.

“Yes, I’m doing some editing work overnight ready for the breakfast shows tomorrow. But I get to watch here for a bit. Excellent coffee Mr B, many thanks.”

The front door bell rang and a series of excited squeals could be heard coming from the lounge. Mr Butler physically braced himself and left the room.

The guests were still flooding into The Abbey, the picture jumping between the different parts of the ancient building. The occupants of the kitchen turned their attention to the various TV channels. Mrs B refilled her cup of sherry.

Mac’s phone buzzed. She tapped her phone and quickly unlocked the screen. “Jane’s uploading the pictures. Jack, I am going to send you a Friend Request. I strongly suggest accepting.”

Jack picked up his phone and swiped the screen to the Facebook app. He saw the symbol that indicated Mac’s request and pressed through to accept.

He saw that Phryne had been updating throughout her morning. There was a series of photographs: of the dress hung up against a wardrobe; of her shoes arranged artfully; of her and Simon and Claire in a taxi; of Trafalgar Square - plainly taken from the taxi; of the Thames and the London Eye, and finally of the outside of The Abbey itself. Jack ‘liked’ the album.

He opened his messages, Phryne had replied to his text there.

_I’m on TV? How thrilling! Keep on watching – you never know what might happen next. Is it going OK at mine?_

Jack typed back,

_Yes, all fine. LOTS of teenagers here; fear your furniture may never have been subject to such abuse!_

 

He closed the app and placed his phone on the countertop; he didn’t really expect a response. He hadn’t really expected a response to the text message. He grinned slightly to himself.

From across the counter, on her Facebook app on her phone, Mac carefully scrolled to Jack’s Profile.

There were some pictures from earlier this week, and she noted that Phryne had ‘liked’ virtually all of them. Mac clicked through to Phryne’s Profile, observing that Jack had similarly ‘liked’ a number of Phryne’s pictures and posts. Mac didn’t ‘do’ Twitter, but Kate did. She nudged her girlfriend subtly, turning to her and asking in a low voice, “can I borrow your phone?”

Kate nodded, pressing a kiss to Mac’s cheek as she retrieved her phone from her small handbag. She unlocked it and handed it to Mac, who opened Twitter and searched for Phryne’s account. Having found it she expanded all the tweets that had responses, and noted that Jack and Phryne had engaged with each other. She raised an eyebrow at the Tweets about the dress fitting; they were bordering on flirtatious. Mac handed the phone back to Kate, taking the opportunity to kiss her fully on the lips. Jack wasn’t sure whether he should look away. When they broke the kiss Mac picked up her own phone and quickly typed away for a few moments, before smiling and setting her phone down.

Mr Butler returned, carrying several large pizza boxes. “Ladies, Gentlemen, I am told these are yours.” Mr B placed the boxes on the countertop and retrieved a pile of cloth napkins from a drawer. Mac and Ray quickly set to work finding their own orders. Mr Butler appeared next to Jack and offered him a top-up to his wine. Jack shook his head and Mr Butler nodded, returning the wine to the fridge. Before Jack had managed to find his pizza Mr Butler had produced a freshly brewed coffee and placed it next to Jack’s phone.

It was gone Seven PM now, a little past Ten AM in London, and the pictures at The Abbey had settled down to focus on the aisle and the as yet unoccupied dais at the front of the building. The story of the day was beginning to play out according to schedule.  

Their immediate hunger sated, the six adults slowly struck up conversation. Kate was a pharmacist; she and Mac had met at the RMH when Mac was doing some consultancy work. They had both liked each other immensely from the first time they met and Mac had tentatively asked Kate out one day, and been pleasantly surprised, and somewhat relieved, when she had accepted.

As the footage on TV switched from inside The Abbey to the streets to watch William and Harry on their journey from Clarence House, conversation inevitably turned to Phryne.

“I can’t believe she knows them,” said Ray.

“Would you honestly expect anything less of Phryne?” queried Mac.

“Not really,” agreed Ray, “have you seen that interview with her?” he asked.

“What interview?” asked Jack.

“In last weekend’s Age magazine-wotsit” Ray said.

“There are some copies behind that laptop,” said Mrs Butler, surprising everyone by her involvement in the conversation.

Jack leaned over and discovered that the laptop was hiding a pile of multiple copies of the indicated magazine. Phryne was on the cover. She appeared to be lying on her back, on a lawn that was a lush shade of deep green. She was smouldering directly towards the camera, a very large Australian Flag draped across her, the curves of her body plainly visible where the flag’s material skimmed her body. Her arms were flung high and wide and there was a distinct suggestion that the flag was the only item covering her ‘modesty’. “ _Flying the Flag – Aussies at THE event of 2011_ ” screamed the cover headline.

Jack flicked to the contents page, and then skimmed through to the relevant article. There were interviews with Quentin Bryce; the Governor General, who was very excited but who had experienced some difficulty settling on an outfit for the occasion. Julia Gillard was seemingly slightly more muted in her enthusiasm. There were stock pictures of both of them besides their related paragraphs.

Ian Thorpe was thrilled to have been invited. ‘Thorpey’ appeared in some photographs which had been taken for the feature. Jack turned the page. There were a lot of pictures of Phryne. She looked like a model. In one of them she was stood on the end of a diving board, perfectly balanced. How in the hell had she managed that? Jack read the text:

 

_Amongst the great and the good that you’ve heard of, and the politicians, a small contingency of Australia’s finest will be attending the Royal Wedding of Prince William of Wales and Catherine Middleton in London next weekend. We met up for a chat with Melbourne’s own Honourable Phryne Fisher at Rippon Lea:_

_Miss Fisher is all smiles and politeness, but you soon know if you’ve crossed a line. She is also frighteningly tight-lipped about her relationship with Prince William and his younger brother Prince Harry, who will act as his Best Man._

_“I’ve known them both since I found myself living in deepest rural Gloucestershire. They are lovely boys, very polite, very respectful, and I’ve watched them grow into responsible men who care deeply about those close to them.” She will not be drawn any further. We move on._

_Miss Fisher’s life has been less than conventional. She grew up in modest circumstances in Collingwood. Did she know of the aristocratic title to which her father would one day rise? She smiles, “not really. We knew there were ‘posh rellies’ on the other side of the globe, but it was always so impossibly unlikely that it was never even considered as a fantasy.”_

_A fantasy it must have been then, when the unlikely suddenly came true and the Fisher family moved lock, stock and barrel when she was just ten years old? “Suddenly there was snow, and real, biting cold, and my accent was ‘funny’, and everything was very familiar, but as if it had been rotated so as to be just slightly off balance. A year after I arrived the BBC started showing ‘Neighbours’ on TV, and my friends at school all assumed that it was a perfect reflection of my life before they knew me. There aren’t many homes in Collingwood that boast swimming pools, and we certainly never sat around all day barbecuing and sunbathing. But that is the view that the British have of Australia, and I don’t believe it can be changed now.”_

_Her accent now is more Received Pronunciation than inner-city Melbourne, but the odd hint of ‘Aussie’ comes through on occasion. She laughs, “yes, usually when I’m annoyed at something. Or someone.”_

_Miss Fisher threw herself into life in Britain. She enjoyed school, “I love learning about things. I wasn’t great at exams, but I read just about every book in the library and taught myself a lot that wasn’t on the curriculum.” University followed; at Edinburgh. Four years study in the Scottish capital led to a degree in General Studies, “I’m a Jack of all Trades. But I’m also a master of some,” she says, a wicked smile breaking across her face. She also developed some fierce acting skills, eagerly joining the Edinburgh University Theatre Company, better known for the name of its own venue – The Bedlam Theatre. “It was indeed, chaotic. But the experience gave me a sharp appreciation of who I am, and what I can push myself to achieve.”_

_After University, a life in London, being seen out ‘on the scene’ beckoned. She was photographed frequently, and was often seen rolling out of clubs in the early hours with her then boyfriend Ronnie Wood (not that one!). The smile disappears and she walks off to change into the next set of clothes for our photographer. Her PA appears from the small changing area. We are warned off by the efficient young woman who is monitoring our every movement. Plainly we have reached the line which must not be crossed. We agree to change tack: there are several more outfits to try as yet and our photographer is finding Miss Fisher a joy to work with. He tells us later that she took his direction extraordinarily well, “she could have had a career doing this.”_

_In her mid-twenties she went off to see the world - “my ‘Grand Tour’” she says, all smiles once more. She went everywhere she could, and a few places that didn’t want to have her. There was a “small unfortunate incident” as she terms it, which saw her spending an evening in a Turkish jail. “The British Embassy was absolutely marvellous. They managed to clear the whole misunderstanding up. And then the Deputy Ambassador personally escorted me to the border and asked me to never return” she adds, a wicked glint in her eye. The ‘incident’ did not dissuade her from her travels and she continued to Africa, the Far East and eventually South America. Was she ever tempted to return to Australia? “I did come back. Holidays. Visits to my mother’s family. Catching up with friends from Collingwood. But there was always another adventure around the corner.”_

_And then one day in 2008, the phone call came which drew her back here, and has kept her here ever since. Out of respect for the girl she now acts as Guardian for, Miss Fisher asks us not to publish specific details of the reason for her return. “It was, an unhappy time. I hope I am doing a good job of raising her.” A small group of friends aids her in the task which was unexpectedly thrust upon her. As well as a teenager, Miss Fisher inherited the running of a business, “HR Detection Services”. She acquired the necessary licence within weeks of being back in Melbourne. “I couldn’t allow the business to collapse. Too many people’s livelihoods relied upon it; mortgages, rents, bills to be paid, mouths to be fed. People think what we do is unseemly. We’re just trying to get answers.”_

_Has her wanderlust been quenched? She laughs, “You should never place limits on yourself, never allow yourself to be held back or tied down. Everyone should be able to fly free. I never say ‘never’, but for now, Melbourne is home.” Melbourne is pleased to have her._

_**In return for Miss Fisher’s agreement to talk with us, we have made a donation to Cancer Council Victoria**_

 

Jack looked through the pictures, which were spread over several pages. There was the one on the diving board, one of her leaning against the net of a tennis court, and another of her sitting on the same diving board, in a different outfit, and with her legs pulled into her. The next two were the most stunning. In one she was sitting on the edge of a swimming pool, her feet dangled over the side, hovering over the water. She was leaning back, her neck extended, her head thrown back. Jack was lost for words. He turned the page. In this last shot, she wasn’t even looking at the camera, but Jack found it impossible to look anywhere other than at her. She was wearing an outfit in blue velvet, the caption helpfully informed him. The death defying stilettos were in evidence again and her hair whipped across her face. It seemed she had been caught in a gust of wind. Jack wondered how he could manage to purloin one of the copies of the magazine without looking suspicious.

“I wonder if my mum’s seen this?” he mused out loud to the room in general.

“Take one for her if you like dear, they sent lots of copies.” Mrs Butler spoke up again as she refilled her sherry.

Jack closed the magazine and placed his phone on top of it. The Queen and Prince Philip were arriving at The Abbey. Jack’s phone rang.

“Sorry” he said, standing from his stool and answering the call, pacing around the kitchen as he spoke “Hi Mum,” there was a pause, “Yes I’m watching it…..at a friend’s house…..no, not Tommo…….because he’s a republican, mum…….from work, a colleague……yes, I’ll tell them we need to stand up when they play the National Anthem…..Mum, you’re going to miss it.…. I’ll see you soon Mum…..Bye” and with that he hung up.

Mac smirked. “A work colleague?” she asked.

“Please don’t” said Jack, sitting down once more. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. How do you explain Phryne to anyone?”

As the camera switched from the Abbey to what they were told was a hotel in Chelsea, Jack realised that the room had emptied slightly. “Where’s Ray?” he asked.

“Had to leave whilst you were engrossed in your magazine.” Mac smiled as Kate polished off another slice of pizza.

“Oh.” Jack had not even noticed Ray go.

“Don’t worry Jack, it’s only blindingly obvious.” Mac tilted her head as if to invite a response.

Jack was about to ask what Mac meant by that, but Mrs Butler had pointedly turned the volume up as the bridal car made its way to The Abbey.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The small group sat and watched the ceremony. There was some excitement from the lounge as Catherine’s dress was revealed to the world. Mr Butler took a seat next to Mrs Butler and held her hand softly. When the royal couple recited their vows Jack noticed that Mr & Mrs B were silently looking at each other, a tear rolling slowly down Mrs B’s face. Mr Butler gently brushed his wife’s cheek and Jack felt as if he was intruding on a highly intimate moment between the elderly couple.

He looked over towards Kate and Mac, who were also holding hands. Kate also looked slightly teary. Jack quietly pushed the pile of napkins in her direction and turned back to the TV. He thought back to his own wedding day. It had all seemed so hopeful, so meant to be. He had loved Rosie, he really believed that. They had promised to love one another until death parted them, and he had honestly thought they would be together forever. ‘Let no man put asunder’ said the Archbishop of Canterbury and Jack shook his head slightly in silent admonishment to himself.

They remained sitting down for the National Anthem.

As the carriage procession rolled through the gates of Buckingham Palace, Kate looked at her watch and groaned. “I’m afraid I have to go,” she said, “the night shift calls.”

“It was lovely to meet you” said Jack, offering his hand. Kate shook it and Mac walked her to the front door. Mr and Mrs B excused themselves to the back garden, and Jack observed them waltzing together to imagined music on the patio.

Jack couldn’t help noticing that when Mac returned to the kitchen she was slightly flushed, and her hair, usually rivalling his in the neatness stakes, was somewhat mussed.

Jack’s phone buzzed and he swiped to the messages, noting that Phryne had sent him a picture. It was of her inside the Abbey in that outfit, with the message:

 

_as you liked it so much….._ _J_ _xx P_

 

There was an additional message underneath:

 

_Oh, and don’t worry about the furniture, it’s seen enough action to not be defeated by teenagers!_

 

Jack wasn’t sure what to say to that. He decided to revert to the only slightly safer ground of the dress.

 

_Jane says there’s another dress for later?_

 

He knew it would take her some time to reply, so he flicked to her Profile where more photos had been uploaded. There was one of Harry in his uniform, hugging Phryne; they had seemingly managed to meet up before the ceremony. There was one of Phryne with both William and Harry, with Phryne looking remarkably coy. There was one of the Bridal party at the altar and one of William and Catherine as they started to walk down the stairs after emerging from signing the register. Jack felt he could be bold enough to comment:

_Got a good seat then! Excellent pictures._

 

Mac, who had retaken her seat and received a further beer from the psychic Mr B, watched Jack closely. She picked up her phone and composed a message to Simon;

 

**_Is P on her phone? Because I think her and the ‘Copper from Melbs’ are messaging each other RIGHT NOW_.**

 

Mac put her phone back on the counter and struck up conversation.

“So Jack, what was that little look about during the service?”

“Which look?”

“When the bloke in the frock at the front was going on about ‘what God has joined together’?”

“I don’t know, weddings kind of feel strange, when you’ve done it yourself, you know?”

“Wouldn’t have a clue, Jack. I’m a second-class citizen when it comes to such things.”

“Sorry,” said Jack, feeling as if the inequality in the law was somehow his fault personally.

“At least when I say I’m ‘not the marrying kind’ I have a bona fide excuse.” Mac smiled. Jack tilted his head in acknowledgement of her point.

“Phryne says you’re divorced,” said Mac, with her usual bluntness.

Jack looked panicked, “Erm, yes?”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?” Mac took a swig from her beer, keeping her focus on Jack as she did so.

Jack paused, a confused expression crossing his face, “Surely Phryne’s told you?”

“Phryne knows?”

“Erm, yes?” Jack was worried how much Phryne might have told her friend.

“Phryne’s not a gossip, Jack. Whatever you told her in confidence she hasn’t passed on. I had to prise the fact that you were divorced out of her at her farewell drinks soiree.” Mac took another swig from her beer.

“Oh,” said Jack, his mind reeling, “well, long story short?”

“If you wish, although this wedding malarkey looks like being a drawn out affair.”

Jack took a deep breath and considered how to begin. “In a nutshell. We met at Uni, we fell in love, we got married, it was all going fine, great, and then we decided we wanted kids, and after a while it became obvious that it wasn’t happening. I suggested looking at adoption, she got a bit, focused, on wanting to experience the whole thing. Matters got, strained.” He found himself telling the story with a curious sense of detachment. “Can I be blunt?”

Mac gestured that to do so was fine. Jack continued.

“Our sex life had reached the point where I got text messages telling me she was ovulating, ordering me home and giving me a time limit within which to, erm…” he made a gesture with his hands which Mac interpreted with aplomb as ‘perform’. She nodded in understanding.

“Ah. Forgive me Jack, but you don’t seem like the sort of man to just chuck in the towel because of that?”

Jack took a deep breath and stared into his coffee for a moment before he spoke again.

“I came home one day and found her receiving the ‘attentions’ of a mate of mine from my football club.”

“What did you do?” Mac took a large swig from her bottle of beer. A sense of dread was forming. No wonder Phryne had brushed off her attempts to tell her more when she had asked.

“Well, she hadn’t seen me, so I went upstairs, threw some of her stuff into a bag, came downstairs and stood in the doorway and waited for her, well, them, to notice me.”

“And” asked Mac, realising with horror that Phryne knew all of this.

“And when she did, finally, realise I was there, I somehow managed to end my marriage with the line, ‘You know Rosie, I’m fairly sure you can’t get pregnant doing that’, threw her bag towards her and held the front door open for them to leave.”

“Fucking hell.” Mac’s mouth had dropped open.

“Indeed. She’s expecting her, second, child now, I believe. So in the end, it was all my fault.”

 “Well speaking as a Doctor, Jack, it’s not always that simple. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Can’t ever help myself.” Mac looked slightly bewildered.

“And there is a part of me that wonders, if I’d never found them together, whether she’d have tried to pass off her first child as mine.” Jack squirmed uncomfortably.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, trying to divorce your wife for adultery becomes somewhat tricky when she’s denied it and even more so when she then turns around part way through proceedings and announces that she’s pregnant.”

Mac’s jaw had fallen to the floor.

“I mean, I knew it couldn’t be mine.” Jack shrugged as Mac raised an eyebrow in question. “I just knew,” he added with conviction, “but she insisted that it could be, and my solicitor said that a DNA test would clear it up once and for all. And I wasn’t going to make her do that when it was still _very_ dangerous, so the whole thing dragged on until we waited for a safer time. And of course I was right. Not mine.” Jack tapped the sides of his cup with his fingertips.

“What would you have done if it had been your child?” asked Mac, somewhat reeling.

Jack shrugged his shoulders. “I think I’d be paying what would probably be a lot of child support and trying to be the best dad I could on one afternoon a week. But I’m not a father, and I’ve resigned myself to the reality that it’s never going to happen for me. At least not biologically.” Jack moved his hand to his phone, toying with it nervously.

Mac took a long moment to consider matters. She had been lightly teasing Phryne about him that last evening, and she understand now why Phryne had seemed so wistful as she'd spoken of him. ‘ _Mac, he’s a good man. He deserves the best. He’s been through a lot_ ’. There had been sadness in her friend’s eyes, but she had seen the small smile that had formed across Phryne’s face when she returned from seeing Jack out. Phryne had plainly tried to hide the smile, but Mac had known Phryne a damn long time, and had been observing the developing closeness between the two for some months.

Mac’s messages to Simon, and his replies in the last few days suggested strongly that Phryne was less neutral about the entire matter than she was willing to admit. Simon and Mac had agreed that they would each undertake an exercise to try and establish what, if anything, may be going on.

She spoke again, “well whilst I’m making you incredibly uncomfortable, what’s happening with you and Phryne?”

Jack felt himself swallow nervously. “We’re friends. I hope.”

“Hmm. And is that all? Because forgive me Jack, but I see the way you look at her. And I see the way she looks at you.”

Jack spoke slowly, “We’re just friends. It would be, foolish, to suggest we could be anything else. We’re from such different worlds. We’re so different.” Jack’s phone buzzed. He automatically swiped to read the message:

 

_There is. I shall send you a picture. I’m rather pleased with it. Just arriving at lunch reception”_

Jack smiled and shut the app.

At the same time, Mac’s phone buzzed and the screen lit up to indicate a text from Simon. She swiped to the text:

 

**_She will need to have the damned phone surgically removed. Every so often the thing vibrates, and she reads whatever the hell it is that she’s been sent, and she smiles. Is he as in denial as she is?_ **

 

Mac typed back,

**_Oh, full Egyptian here. But I think he’s mostly scared. And a little bit broken. Which given what he’s just told me isn’t that surprising._ ** **_Keep digging and nudging?_ **

 

She pressed send, looked up at Jack and smiled.

“Relationships are strange, aren’t they? And so fluid. And the other person always changes, whilst you’re changing yourself. And you so often don’t realise it.” Mac had decided to go for obtuse. Jack frowned at her.

“Take Kate and I, for example. I had the problem of trying to establish whether she was, in fact, interested in girls. And if so, whether she was interested in me. Or whether I was over-analysing intentions which were merely friendly.”

“I imagine it must be very difficult,” said Jack, relieved that the focus appeared to have moved away from him and Phryne.

“It turned out I was making it more difficult than it needed to be” she paused, Jack plainly needed a nudge. “What I think, Jack, is that if you like someone, you should go for it. Because the person you like might just surprise you.”

Jack nodded. Plainly Mac was trying to drop a hint. “Phryne is a whole world of trouble, isn’t she?”

“Oh completely. But she is my oldest friend. And we have seen each other through bad times and good. And she is, a little bit, vulnerable, when it comes to feelings, because she has been more than a little bit hurt in her past.”

Jack gestured towards the magazine, “The bloke mentioned in that article. She’s, told me. Some of it, not all of it, I think.”

“If you know some of it then that is more than most other people. She’s letting you in, Jack. In her own obstinate, stubborn, slow, careful way, she is letting you in.”

Jack took a deep breath, he decided that Mac was discreet, and unlikely to tease him about this, “I like her Mac, but look at this.” He indicated the TV screen. “She’s at this. She knows Royalty.”

“Do you honestly think that makes a jot of difference to her? If it did, she wouldn’t still be my friend. Jack, she’s just a girl from Collingwood, who is scared to open up and who runs from her feelings. And I rather think you can relate to that.” Mac reached over the table and took Jack’s hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “Just, think about it, please?”

“I’m not sure she does ‘serious’, Mac. And I’m a serious sort of bloke.”

“I think you’re being unfair. To yourself and to Phryne.”

There was a scream from the lounge. Mac and Jack leapt up and rushed through from the kitchen.

Jane was clutching her iPad like a lifebelt and screaming.

“What is it?” asked Mac, trying to fight her way through the hoard of teenagers who were gathered around Jane. Jack followed behind, keeping as close to Mac as he dared.

“Liz, oh my god, look at this!” exclaimed Jane, pressing ‘play’ on a video clip. It was Joss Stone. She waved at the camera and spoke,

“Hi Jane. Hope you’re OK. I’ve met Phryne at this wedding, and she says you’re a really big fan of my music. So, thanks for the support, and maybe you’ll be able to come to a concert when I tour Australia next. Bye.” And then Joss Stone waved and Jack heard Phryne say ‘thank you so much, this will mean the world,’ as the recording was stopping.

“So, no-one’s on fire. Excellent” said Mac. She bent down and hugged Jane, whispering something in her ear. Jane turned and whispered back, and Jack noticed that there was another hug before the two separated and Mac turned back to him, “We should return to the kitchen, Jack” and she grabbed him by the elbow and pushed him in front of her.

 

“This is all somewhat surreal, if I’m being honest” said Jack as he sat down again. The Butlers had moved back in from the garden and Jack found another steaming cup of coffee placed next to him just as he was considering that more caffeine would be appreciated. Jack wondered how Mr Butler did that. “Jane seems terribly excited about that video.”

“Huge fan. She came here on tour in 2007. One night only. Jane went with her mum. It was one of the last things they managed to do together. Helen was too ill after that.” Mac sniffed, and Jack thought he saw her eyes dampen.

“Oh.”

“Helen would have loved this. Us all sitting around, watching Phryne on the TV. She’d have taken the piss mercilessly.” Mac took a sharp breath in through her nose in an attempt to retain her self-control.

“It must be hard, for Jane?”

“She just said, ‘I miss my mum’. She’s so strong. I don’t think I could have coped half as well as she has.” Mac sniffed again, her eyes blinking rapidly. “Anyway, look at me, getting all overly sentimental. They’ll have my ‘butch lesbian’ card revoked.”

Jack smiled, “well that would never do.”

Jack’s phone buzzed. Mac looked at him.

“Twitter notification?” asked Mac.

“Yes” replied Jack, somewhat sheepishly.

Jack opened his Twitter app. Phryne had tweeted a picture of the courtyard at Buckingham Palace.

 

**Little bit grander than Melbourne Town Hall! #rw2011**

 

Jack turned the phone towards Mac and showed her the tweet and they both smiled.

“How long does this thing go on for?” Mac asked, waving her hand in front of the TV screen, which was now showing footage of the front of Buckingham Palace as cars, mini-buses and taxis drove through the gates.

“Well according to my mum, there’s a reception now, and then one this evening, UK time. I suspect I’ll be at home and asleep by then. I hope I will anyway, how long are Jane’s friends staying?” Jack had read the article in his mum’s TV guide which had detailed the highlights of the planned coverage. His mum had then talked him through it every time he’d visited in the last few weeks. He had decided not to mention to his mum that he knew someone who was attending the actual wedding; he feared he would never hear the end of it if he did.

“We’ve said we’ll get them taxis as they _want_ to leave, but they all _have_ to leave after the flypast happens,” said Mrs B, who had topped up her cup of sherry once more.

“Which I believe is scheduled for around Half Past Midnight, for us,” added Mr Butler, who had memorised the schedule for the entire day.

“Very good job I’m not in work tomorrow then,” said Jack, helping himself to a now cold slice of Pizza.

They passed the next hour or so in animated chatter, Mac regaling Jack with tales of her and Phryne’s past. Jack found he liked Mac enormously. He had never really had a chance to talk with her properly on previous occasions when they had met, and she had always struck him as somewhat serious. He supposed he came across the same way.

The assembled group paused to watch the bridal party emerge onto the balcony, and all in the room sighed and smiled as William and Kate kissed.

As Jane’s friends in the lounge began to drift off to their homes, Mr B arranging a series of taxis to transport them, Jack told stories of Phryne’s ‘assistance’ on his cases. By the time William and Kate emerged from Buckingham Palace in the decorated Aston Martin two hours later, Mac and Jack were both howling with laughter, tears of joy running down their cheeks.

After a further quarter of an hour had passed and the remaining teenagers had all left, Jack declared that it was time for him too to leave. He offered Mac a lift, which she gratefully accepted and he found himself driving her to her home in Malvern. As she extracted herself from his car Mac leaned in to speak to him.

“Remember what I said Jack. Its fine to be scared, but don’t let it stop you from taking a risk. Good night” and with that she closed the door and weaved her way up her driveway. Jack watched her into the house, sighed and turned his car towards Richmond.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

When Jack got home he checked his phone. Phryne had uploaded to Facebook a picture of what appeared to be the balcony scene but from behind the Royal Party. The caption read:

 

 _Guess who managed to sneak in here? So *many* people in the crowd, it must be quite overwhelming_.

 

Jack smiled to himself, and shook his head. That woman could get anywhere. He reflected on Mac’s words as he got ready for bed. He thought Mac had been hinting that Phryne liked him. That was what girlfriends did, wasn’t it? Talked about whether they liked people? Perhaps he should say something to Phryne? Maybe he could risk asking her out? Maybe they just needed to give each other a chance?

He plugged his phone in to charge and shuffled himself under the covers. He rolled onto his side; his pillow felt wrong somehow and he tried to mould it into a more pleasing shape, thinking of Phryne as he did so. He needed a plan. He stared at the clock on his bedside table as he thought through his conversation with Mac. What he would do, he decided, was wait for Phryne to get back, and get over the jet lag. And then he’d ask her out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are trying for a kid, and it's not happening, and you're reaching an emotional breaking point, you have my greatest sympathy. I cannot imagine how awful it must be. 
> 
> The history of Jack and Rosie is based partially on that of some acquaintances of mine. They were trying, it wasn't happening, the strain grew too much, they split up. She found a new chap and *boom* - pregnant almost straight away. I also know someone else who woke up one day to discover her biological clock booming like Big Ben, and upon discovering that her husband was much less up for it, dumped him and found the nearest fertile bloke. The ink was not even dry on the divorce papers before she was expecting. None of these stories are a great reflection of the people involved. 
> 
> I needed Jack to have been torn up, badly, so I rolled the two histories together and added a dash of 'and then she turned nasty even though I'd not actually done anything wrong'. Please recall that Jack is rarely willing to place the blame entirely at Rosie's door. When he talks to Mac he is trying to be as detached as possible. He feels terrible guilt that he couldn't give her what she, well, they, wanted. But he does think they could have looked at adoption a tad more closely.


	21. Friday 29th April - London, evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Mac has talked to Jack. And Mac's talked to Simon. Simon has talked to Harry, and Harry already knew he needed to talk to Phryne...

As Phryne rushed to get ready to leave she remembered that she had promised Jack a photo. She thrust her phone at Simon, shimmied her wrap off her shoulders and leaned against the doorframe of her room.

“Simon, take a photo, please?”

“Good god Phryne, I do not think there is any aspect of this wedding you have not photographed. Shove your shoulder forwards. Lovely.” Simon snapped a couple of shots.

“Well it’s a great occasion isn’t it?”

“And what exactly are you doing with all these shots? Because I notice not all of them have made it to Facebook or Twitter?” Simon asked.

“Some of them I’ll upload later…” Phryne replied absently.

“And some of them you’re messaging to people?” Simon asked, affecting an air of innocence.

Phryne blushed, “some of them yes. Jane, mostly…”

“And this ‘just a copper’?” asked Simon, his expression scrupulously neutral.

Phryne’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s just; you’ve been practically attached to that phone all week Phryne. And you’re getting messages from someone. And whoever it is, they’re making you smile. And he’s the only person you’ve mentioned. Unless you and Mac have changed your outlooks…”

Phryne snorted, “I’m fairly sure she’s seeing someone. And working up to telling me about it.”

“You’re avoiding the material point.”

“He’s a colleague.”

“I thought he was a contact?”

“He’s… a lot of things. He’s a contact, for the agency, and we end up working on some cases together, and he’s sort of, become a friend?” Phryne bustled around her room, “Where’s the Pro-plus? I’ll need it later.”

“Do you like him?” Simon sat on the edge of the bed as Phryne continued to dash around the room.

“Of course I like him; I wouldn’t keep him around if I didn’t.”

“That’s not what I’m asking Phryne, and you know it.”

“Simon,” Phryne looked as if she was about to say something, and then changed her mind,  “we have the social event of the year to attend, and we cannot be late!” And with that Phryne swept through the door and down the stairs from the top floor of the building to the waiting taxi. Simon noted that Phryne had not given a flat out denial. He fished his phone from his pocket and texted Mac.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Phryne was having an absolutely marvellous evening. The food had been superb, the speeches exceptionally moving. The ballroom had been transferred into a nightclub and she had danced the night away, drinking through numerous champagne cocktails when she felt the need to rest. At 2am Bacon Sandwiches had been brought round, which had prompted Phryne to break her own resolve and Tweet a picture:

**Bacon Sandwiches! With HP Sauce! Oh god, yes!**

As the music slowed down, Phryne gravitated outside to the Palace Gardens. Harry, who was now only slightly less tiddly-pom than Phryne, staggered over to her, a bottle of champagne in one hand.

“Phry! Phry! Where the hell have you been all night?” Harry asked, throwing his free arm around Phryne’s shoulder.

“On the dance floor Harry, where else would I be?” Phryne rested her head on his shoulder.

Harry looked down towards Phryne, “are you coming to the after party?”

“I don’t know. Simon and I might just go home, it’s been a bloody long day”. Phryne was wavering. She imagined if she carried on partying, and especially with Harry, that matters might turn somewhat, ‘extra-curricular’.

“OK. Three points. One, I have never known you turn down a party, and I don’t want to see you start now. Two, Simon is busy.” Harry indicated behind Phryne, who turned to find Simon and Claire locked together, snogging against the wall of the Palace.

“Oh my god!” exclaimed Phryne, “when did that happen?”

“They’ve been eyeing each other up since that charity reception on Wednesday. So I don’t think he’ll thank you if you try and break that up. And thirdly, we need to talk, Phry.”

“We do?” she was confused by this.

“We do. So, I’m about to tell the grounds chaps to press all the buttons to blow this lawn sky high, and then you’re coming on the mini-bus with me.” Harry squeezed Phryne a bit tighter.

“Where are we going?” Phryne hoped it wasn’t Windsor; getting back from there would be problematic.

“The Goring. Kate’s lot have taken over the place. And they have really top notch Whiskey.”

“Well I can’t resist a good single malt. And you’re right of course, I never have turned down a good party.” Phryne was relieved; The Goring was only around the corner, in what an ambitious Estate Agent would have termed ‘Belgravia’, but which was in fact closer to ‘Victoria’.

The fireworks were amazing, but Phryne wondered how they weren’t going to wake up everyone for miles around. She had barely had time to stagger back to the ballroom before Harry came up to her, swept his arm through hers, holding her by the elbow, and steered her in the direction of the waiting mini-bus.

The journey to The Goring was indeed mercifully brief, and Harry and Phryne stumbled out of the vehicle, holding each other up as they laughed and giggled. They clocked the gathering photographers and both broadly waved their arms towards them, Phryne turning her head into Harry’s shoulder, to hide the fact that she was snorting with laughter following a rather filthy joke that one of their fellow passengers had told during the short trip.

Phryne dumped her wrap and bag on a corner sofa, having found a plug point. She put her phone on to charge and made her way around the small ‘lounge’ area, talking to the other guests who had staggered back to carry on the party. By the time Five Thirty came around, many of the guests had left, or were in the process of finding their way to their rooms in the hotel. Phryne had retreated to her corner, sitting on the sofa and flopping her head backwards. She was really very tired now. She reached for her phone and idly stroked the side of its case with the tip of her thumb. She heard the clinking of glasses and sat up. Harry had come over to her corner and was sitting down.

“Is this the bit where we ‘Talk’?” she asked, smiling with more brightness than she felt.

“It is” said Harry, pouring two generous tumblers of whiskey from the bottle he had brought over with him.

“Is this about the press? A friend sent me something from The Mail with pics from the polo. I’m sure this isn’t the story your chaps wanted this week.” Phryne paused for the merest second before she continued. “You’ve not told anyone have you?”

“About ‘us’? What on earth would I say, ‘Why yes, we’ve been casually shagging since I was seventeen. There’s nothing in it, we’re just friends who appreciate that sometimes we each have needs?’ I don’t even want to consider where the press would go with that.”

“Probably something about ‘Phryne the courtesan’.” Phryne smiled brightly in response.

Harry laughed at that. “A couple of my coppers know.” Phryne raised an eyebrow at that. “Well I had to get them to leave me alone sometimes. But they’re never going to say anything. Have you ever told anyone?”

“Oh goodness no. None of anyone’s business Harry. And as you say, too complicated.”

Harry pushed one of the tumblers of whiskey towards Phryne.

“I’m really not sure I can drink much more Harry, however excellent it is.”

“You’re probably going to want to.” Harry said.

“As a prelude to seduction? Because you know you don’t have to get me drunk.” Phryne smouldered at Harry. He really was terribly charming, and he was always such good fun. She was quite proud of her achievements with him.

“Very much no,” Harry smiled, taking his jacket off and rolling up his sleeves.

“Oh.” Phryne looked slightly disappointed.

“You spend a lot of time with that phone.” Harry swung his glass in his hand, the ice in it rattling off the sides of the cut crystal.

“Is it terribly anti-social of me?” Phryne had tried today, very much, to eliminate her phone use.

“A little. But potentially forgivable Phry, in the right circumstances.” Harry smiled slightly.

“And what are those?” Phryne felt that this conversation was indeed a little flirtatious, but it felt like Harry was distracted somewhat.

“If you’re keeping in touch with someone you miss.” Harry paused and took a swig of his whiskey before he continued. “You know, I was talking to Simon earlier, before he shoved his tongue down Claire’s throat and didn’t come up for air for fifteen minutes, and he said that you’ve spent the time since you met up with him in Singers, Facebooking and Tweeting like a mad thing, and pinging messages back and forth at all hours”

“It’s not been that bad. I’m sure” Phryne suddenly wondered how much time she had spent messaging. This trip had been somewhat surreal. She had been so looking forward to it, and she had enjoyed herself a lot. She had greatly loved meeting up with people she hadn’t seen since she had made the dash to Heathrow three years earlier. But she had not expected that she would have missed Melbourne as much as she had been doing.

“So, who are you messaging? Other than Jane and Mac? Simon got the distinct impression there was someone who was receiving most of your textual attention.” Harry leant back against the back of the sofa, running an arm across the top of it, behind Phryne.

“It’s just a, colleague. I’ve been helping him with a case whilst I’ve been here actually.” Phryne suddenly felt like she was being interrogated.

“Can I see your phone?” Harry held his hand out expectantly.

Phryne nodded, confused, unplugging her phone and handing it to Harry. Harry silently read through Phryne’s Facebook. The most recent post was to her Wall by ‘Jane Ross’ and was labelled “ _The responsible adults_ ”, with ‘Liz Mac’ and ‘Jack Robinson’ tagged.

Harry noted that this ‘Jack Robinson’ had liked or commented on some of Phryne’s posts, and clicked through to his profile. He quickly took in that the bloke was a Detective Inspector in the Victoria Police Force, that there were pictures from earlier this week of what seemed to be a cycle race, and that Phryne had ‘liked’ all the pictures where the bloke was sweaty, or wearing very close fitting lycra. There was a recent profile picture change which Phryne had also ‘liked’. Harry smiled; this was plainly the guy who was the focus of Phryne’s attentions.

“Is this the person you’ve been in touch with?” he asked, showing the phone to Phryne.

She nodded, raising a questioning eyebrow, “have you been swotting up on detection techniques as well Harry?”

Harry said nothing, but smiled. Feeling he was about to cross a line, but doing it anyway, Harry opened Phryne’s messages and read through the ones from Jack. Some of them were somewhat suggestive and flirtatious. On the part of both parties.

He closed Facebook and moved to the texts. There were only a few texts from the bloke, but Phryne had set a contact picture for him. Harry pressed it to enlarge it. He took a further sip of the whiskey. The picture was of Phryne and this chap at some sort of sporting event, looking at each other for all the world as if they were the only two people in existence. “Care to tell me about this?” he asked her.

“It was at an AFL game a few weeks ago. Aussie Rules?” Phryne added, by way of explanation.

“So this, ‘Jack’?” Harry asked, affecting an air of nonchalance, “how long has it been going on?”

“It’s… he’s…. we’re…. it’s not! There’s nothing going on. He’s just a friend” she stated, somewhat flustered. “And he’s helping Mac keep an eye on Jane for me. And he’s a friend.”

“You said that twice. And he’s suddenly been upgraded from ‘colleague’. I think that there may be rather more to it than ‘just friends’.” Harry said gently.  “And if there’s nothing going on now, does that mean that there will be soon?”

“What? No. I don’t do that.” Phryne wondered quite why Harry was talking to her about Jack.

Harry smiled, “Well that’s blatant nonsense. I’ve seen you ask loads of blokes out.”

“I’ve propositioned blokes, it’s different” Phryne said, with a shoulder shrug.

“So you haven’t propositioned him either?” Harry was becoming confused. Phryne did not dither around the edges if she fancied someone.

“No” said Phryne.

“Why haven’t you propositioned him?”

Phryne paused before speaking, “Because I’m not sure that a brief fling is what he wants?”

“Since when did you care about what they want?”

“He’s, different.”  Phryne wasn’t sure what it was she wanted to say. “

“Why is he different?” Harry was getting an inkling that Phryne may be having ‘feelings’ for this chap. Which explained a lot.

Phryne drank some more whiskey, considering her response. She would have denied it to anyone else, but with Harry there was a policy of total honesty. She took a deep breath. “I do fancy him, Harry. An awful lot. But I also like him, as a friend. And I find myself not wanting to mess that up. And I’m not sure that just a brief fling is what I want, either,” she added, quietly.

“ _Because_?” Harry was sensing he was going to have to do some serious pushing here; Phryne really was the most stubborn person in the world sometimes.

Phryne hesitated once more. “Because, I care about him. And I don’t want him to get hurt. And I don’t want to be the one to hurt him.” The admission temporarily shocked Phryne. “You know I don’t do serious anymore.”

“And why is that, Phryne?” Harry asked, taking her hand and squeezing it gently.

“Because then _I_ can’t get hurt.” Phryne said, turning to Harry and giving a resigned shrug.

“And you can’t be happy.” Harry said.

“I am happy, Harry.” said Phryne, loosening her hand from Harry’s grip and wrapping her arms into her chest.

“Really? Because it seems to me that you are quieter than I have ever known you.” Harry stared Phryne down.

“Quiet does not equal unhappy. I’m just missing Melbourne, that’s all,” she said, half looking away.

“You never miss anywhere. Are you sure it’s just the place you miss?”

“And Jane, I miss Jane” said Phryne desperately attempting to rationalise her own feelings.

“Of course. And Jack?” Harry had a humorous twinkle in his eye.

“Yes, I miss him,” Phryne admitted, with resignation. “I miss his smile, which I seem to be able to coax out of him more every time I see him. I miss annoying him intently at crime scenes. I miss having him over for supper and sitting in my lounge with him, talking about, well, everything and anything.”

“He is single, yes?” Harry asked.

“Yes. Well, he’s divorced. It ended badly. Disastrously, actually.” Phryne paused, “I don’t know if he likes me Harry. I keep thinking he’s going to ask me out, and then he never does. And I’m not the sort of person one ‘goes out’ with anyway.”

He’d have to be mad not to like you. Look at the way he’s looking at you in that photo. And did I see one of him having Pizza at your house earlier today when I was scrolling through your Facebook? And you _could_ be the sort of person one goes out with, if you allowed yourself to be.” Harry paused, shaking his head as if talking to himself. Phryne really was terrible at this sort of thing. He waited.

“I don’t do ‘ongoing’ or ‘serious’ or ‘commitment’ Harry, you know that,” said Phryne.

“Phryne, I hate to have to point this out, but we’ve been seeing each other for nine years. And I know you’re going to say it’s not serious, or committed, both of which are true, but it has definitely been ongoing. And you’ve committed yourself to looking after Jane, which you’ve been able to do with no qualms, and no previous experience. And that is very serious. You don’t have to commit to spending your entire life with him just because you agree to go out with him. Maybe you should tell him that you like him and let him ask you out? Or ask him out yourself.” Harry fell silent and waited again.

“I’m scared” she admitted eventually, in a tiny, quiet voice.

“Phryne. I get that you’re scared. I understand it, entirely. But this guy isn’t Ronnie. This guy has a job, and presumably his own home, and for the love of everything Phry; he’s gone to your house, when you’re not even there, to look after Jane and spend the evening with Mac. Mac scares me and I’m combat trained. So what is stopping you?”

“It’s…” Phryne could not think of what to say.

“The possibility of getting hurt. Yes, Phryne, I know. But life is not meant to be about closing yourself off for fear of getting hurt. Look at Wills and Kate; they split up for a while, and it hurt like hell; Wills was a total bloody mess for months. But they worked it out. And I will guarantee that you have less BS to deal with than they did.”

Harry had a suspicion as to what he was going to have to say next, and he wanted to fortify himself. After a few minutes, Harry spoke. “Besides, I think you have rather more notion of what you want than you’re willing to admit,” said Harry. Silence fell between them.

Phryne looked at Harry in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

“You honestly don’t know? Or are you just trying to deny this happened?” Harry sighed. “Fine, I can see you’re going to force me to do this.” He took another, larger swig of his whiskey. “You will recall last weekend?” he said, slowly, willing her to interrupt him at any point.

“At The Beaufort? Yes.” Phryne smiled.

“And we were…” He made a vague hand gesture.

“Yes.” Phryne’s smile widened.

“And you were very, very excited…” Harry took another big glug of the amber coloured liquid.

“I was Harry; you were excellent as always.” Phryne smiled again at the memory.

“Well I certainly thought so. I mean, I was doing some of my best work there.” Phryne blushed slightly. Harry continued, “And you were really very keen Phry, I can’t fault you there.”

“Harry, I have no idea what you’re trying to tell me.” Phryne wondered why Harry was taking so long to come to his point, whatever it was. He was usually as blunt as she was.

Harry emptied his glass, and leaned in to speak quietly, “When you came you screamed ‘oh, god, Jack, yes’, if I recall correctly.”

Phryne went as white as a sheet. Harry picked up Phryne’s full tumbler of whiskey and handed it to her. “I said you’d want this.”

Phryne nodded and knocked the Whiskey back. Her mind froze. She hadn’t? Had she? She would know what she’d said, surely. And she couldn’t possibly have said Jack’s name when they’d never even really properly kissed and there was nothing between them.

Harry took the tumbler from her and refilled both hers and his. He pushed hers back towards her, taking a generous drink from his own. He gave Phryne a moment.

“I hate to be indelicate Phry.” Harry spoke quietly.

“I think we stepped past indelicate some moments ago,” she retorted, her usual fire rekindling itself.

“Well, yes. But anyway. I really do feel, Phry, that if you’re having sex with one chap, and screaming out the name of another one, you should really do something about it.”

“Oh god, did I really say his name?” Phryne buried her head in her hands.

“You did.” There was a hint of amusement in Harry’s eyes.

“I am so sorry Harry.” She suddenly realised why Harry had been so quick to pick up on Jack’s existence in her life. Phryne felt there was not enough whiskey in the world for this conversation. She refilled her glass again; the second had been drunk down as fast as the first.

“Luckily I’m a very understanding sort of chap. But I am considering having him arrested for Treason.” Harry said, grinning as he attempting to lighten the mood. He had never seen Phryne like this.

Phryne giggled, “On what grounds? Piracy on the high seas?”

“I was thinking more ‘arson in the Queen’s dockyards’, but I’ll take your view into account. Oh, Phryne. I would never be so foolish as to tell you what to do. But may I suggest that you get over yourself and work it out with him?”

Phryne smiled, “I just…”

“What are you scared of Phry? That it won’t work? Or that it will?” Harry said cutting across her. She plainly needed a very big nudge. Possibly right off the cliff edge.

“I don’t know what he wants. I don’t know what I want.” Phryne was thinking that some more Whiskey might not be a terrible idea.

“You don’t have to know what you want Phry. It doesn’t all have to be planned and mapped and controlled. Sometimes you just have to let it exist.” Harry emptied his glass and refilled it. “Nothing’s ever happened?” he asked, perplexed.

“Nothing,” said Phryne, playing with her tumbler guiltily. “I mean, he kissed me goodbye before I left. But just as a friend.”

“Hmm,” said Harry, “show me?”

“What?” Phryne looked at Harry, utterly perplexed.

“Show me how he kissed you and let me be the judge.” Harry was not going to deny that he liked kissing Phryne, but he was also wagering with himself that Phryne was going to be able to remember exactly how this supposedly friendly kiss had gone.

“This is stupid.” Phryne drank more of the whiskey.

“Probably. But no-one’s going to see. Run me through it.” Harry set his glass down, smacked his hands together and added, “come on, lay it on me. Paint me the picture.”

Phryne drank some more of the whiskey, setting the glass down on the table.

“Well, it was the end of the night. He was entirely sober, as he almost always is. And we were saying goodbye on the porch, and I hugged him.” Phryne wrapped her arms around Harry to show him.

“And what did he do?” Harry was intrigued.

“He wrapped his arms around me” Harry followed Phryne’s indicative gestures. “And then I leaned backwards” She repeated the action from two weeks earlier, “and then I asked him something about what he was thinking, and he said he wasn’t, and then he kissed me, like this.” Phryne leaned in and gently pressed her lips to Harry’s, exactly the way Jack had on her doorstep. Phryne tried not to focus on the fact that it felt completely different with Harry than it had with Jack. When she leaned back, Harry looked at her, blinking several times. He loosened his grip and sat back.

“And then what?” Harry asked.

“And then he unwrapped himself from me and walked to his car.” Phryne explained with a wave of her hand.

“Phryne Fisher. Are you utterly blind?”

“What do you mean?”

“That is not how you kiss a friend goodbye.” Harry spoke slowly, carefully, deliberately. “Phryne. I love you. You are one of my oldest friends. We have been through the mangle together. We have had some very memorable evenings. And afternoons. And mornings. But you are deluding yourself. You like him. And if he kissed you like that, please take it from me that he likes you. So have a think about it, get yourself back to Melbourne, and tell him how you feel. I will wager that he is just as scared as you are, which will be why he keeps on backing away from asking you out. Try being scared together, it might be the smartest thing you’ve ever done. You care about him, Phryne, and I think he cares about you. And don’t argue; his behaviour says he does. Now come here, you need a hug.” Harry opened up his arms, and Phryne threw herself into them with gratitude.

“...I know” Phryne was waging a battle within herself that she knew she was losing. She knew the truth; had known it for some time, but had been refusing to face it. Her mind was a whirling frenzy of thoughts. She needed to think. She needed fresh air. She needed coffee. 


	22. SATURDAY – APRIL 30th. 6.30am (London), 3.30pm (Melbourne)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once Phryne Fisher has put her mind to something...

As Phryne wandered past Buckingham Palace she paused. It had turned into a very strange end to the evening. She took her phone from her handbag; the sneaky charge in the Goring had restored it to almost full power. It was just gone Six Thirty in the morning. She swiped her phone to unlock it and took a few snaps of the Palace. It looked very quiet at this early hour.

Phryne looked around her; the TV news crews were still milling around, their bank of temporary studio containers a surprising hive of activity. In front of the Victoria Memorial some photographers were snapping away still. Phryne took an investigative sip of the coffee she had acquired from the immensely helpful staff at The Goring; still too hot. She had chosen to escape the hotel through the kitchens. The utter lack of surprise from any of the kitchen staff suggested this was a regular occurrence. She was no more than ten minutes from the flat now. She didn’t want to go back there straight away though - she needed time to think before she slept. Phryne carefully crossed the bottom of Constitution Hill, sweeping her skirt up into her arms, pulling her wrap more tightly around her to keep out the early morning chill.

She moved into Green Park. There were TV vans parked up, and staff running in and out of some of them. Time differences, mused Phryne, meant that in some parts of the world people would be up and watching the wedding still. How far ahead was Melbourne? She looked at her phone screen; the dual clocks told her it was just after 3.30pm.

Phryne moved further into the park, and found a bench looking out across the expanse of carefully tended grassland. She carefully sat down, arranging the skirt of her dress around her. She tugged her wrap closer, pulling her elbows in to try to prevent her body heat escaping. As she idly rotated her phone and held her coffee she began to consider Jack.

Harry had hit the nail in the head; she was deluding herself. She had been trying so hard to deny that Jack could possibly have any feelings for her, that her feelings for him had snuck up on her unawares. She considered what her feelings were. It was very clear that they needed to talk. Phryne wondered what she would say. She wasn’t sure she could do this with Jack gazing at her; she would never be able to keep her composure in front of him. Or, quite possibly, she would see the look on his face that he so often tried to hide and lose her resolve. She looked again at the times on her phone. She scrolled down through her Contacts list, found Jack’s name and allowed her thumb to hover over the ‘call’ icon.  She closed her eyes slowly as her thumb made contact with the screen. She knew it would take a moment for the call to connect, and she slowly opened her eyes. She took a sip of her coffee; it was now at an almost perfect temperature. She raised the phone to her ear, exhaled slowly and waited.

 

Jack had allowed himself a lazy morning, including that rarest of treats; a lie in with no alarm clock set. He had risen around noon, had a shower and some ‘breakfast’, read Phryne’s updates and googled what ‘HP Sauce’ was. The company website suggested it was available in Australia. Maybe he could hunt some down for her? He had shared Jane’s picture of him and Mac to his Facebook wall. Jack had tried not to focus on the fact that Phryne had liked the picture, supposing it was just her expressing wordless thanks for his babysitting service. Sky News was on the TV as he pottered around his flat. They were showing a rolling collection of images of the wedding, and Jack was becoming overly familiar with the selection.

Jack reflected on what Mac had said last night. He needed to talk to Phryne when she got back. Really, properly talk, about what they both might want. Maybe, as Mac had hinted, there could be some possibility of something more than a brief fling. Beyond that, he himself wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted other than to ‘be with Phryne’. He wasn’t sure how it would work, or even if it could, but he knew he wanted to try and see if they could, well, ‘see each other’ without it being a disaster.

His phone rang. Jack stared at it. The words “Phryne, personal” showed on his phone’s screen. He cautiously picked up the phone. “Phryne?” he asked, not believing it could really be her. Had she dialled him by error whilst fumbling in her handbag perhaps?

 

Oh god, he’d answered. She hadn’t been sure that he would, and now he had, and she had no idea what to say.

 

“Hello” she replied brightly, deciding that she should take it one exchange at a time.

“Are you all right?” Jack asked, immediately concerned.

Phryne gulped a breath. If it all went wrong she could hang up and claim ‘drunk dial’ in defence. “Yes, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Oh,” said Jack, his mind racing. He looked at the TV, it was just gone Three Thirty, and he quickly worked through the calculation, “it must be very early there?”

“It is,” confirmed Phryne, placing her coffee on the bench next to her.

“Where are you?” asked Jack, settling himself on his sofa. He was slightly dazed that she had called him.

“London” said Phryne, swirling her fingernails in a series of swirls and circles across her dress where it fell over her thigh.

“Well, yes. But I’m led to believe it’s a very big place.” Jack smiled as he asked the question. Whatever her answer was, he would likely have no idea where she was any more than if he hadn’t asked the question.

“Green Park.”

“Imaginative name.”

Phryne smiled, “It’s very peaceful. I have a very strong cup of coffee. And I just decided to call you. Where are you?”

“My flat.” 

“And where is that? Exactly.” Asked Phryne, shifting slightly at the prospect of breaching a part of Jack’s carefully constructed mystique.

Jack chuckled, she was sometimes so obvious. “Richmond. Hoddle Street”

“And what can you see?” Phryne asked.

“Sorry?”

“What can you see? Tell me the sights.”

Jack started to speak, his tone low and soft. “Well. If I was on the roof, which I’m not, right now, but if I was… Well, I could see Fitzroy Gardens, and then I could turn and see The G with The Park behind it. And The Yarra. And beyond there the Botanic Gardens and the rest of The Domain. And if I had truly amazing eye-sight I could see over to Albert Park and the St Kilda foreshore, and maybe even your house. And the ships in the bay on their way into port.”

Phryne shivered. She realised now that his voice sounded like seduction itself. “That sounds, wonderful. Wonderful views. I’ve missed it.”

“But you do appear to have had a lot of fun in London?”

“I have.” Phryne paused. “But it no longer feels like home.”

“And Melbourne does?” Jack leant forward. This conversation felt like it was building to something.

“It does.” Phryne confirmed.

“Well, Melbourne has not been the same without you.” Jack held his breath, worried that he was being too forward.

“And I haven’t been the same without you.” Phryne rolled her lip slightly, was she saying too much too soon? “I’ve had some time to think” she added quickly.

“Potentially dangerous.”

“We need to talk. And I think it’s time we placed our cards on the table.” Phryne said, choosing this moment to pick up her coffee and take a large gulp. The Goring’s barista had done an excellent job.

Jack felt his heart beat stutter slightly. His experience of ‘we need to talk’ was overwhelmingly negative. He reassured himself that if she was in some way about to trample his heart that at least he wouldn’t have to look her in the face whilst she did so. “OK,” he said, with far, far more confidence than he felt.

Phryne placed the coffee back down on the wooden slats, sat up and cleared her throat slightly. She spoke hesitantly. “When you, we - …The kiss.”

Jack could hear Phryne’s voice faltering. It was that nervous, slightly unsure version of Phryne - he could tell even over a phone line. “Yes?” he said, feeling his heart now pounding in his chest.

“It’s just, I, rationalised it as a goodbye kiss. Between friends.” Phryne faltered but Jack remained silent, closing his eyes and waiting for her to deliver what he hoped would be a gentle let-down. Jack heard Phryne inhale and begin to speak again, “But it would seem, having taken advice from a, concerned, third party, that it might have meant, more?” 

“Phryne,” whispered Jack, plaintively.

Phryne decided she needed to plough on. “And I’ve sat here, and I’ve thought about it. And about, well, quite a lot of things. And I’ve realised something which apparently everyone else in the entire world is already aware of.”

Jack snapped his eyes open and sat up. “What have you realised?” he asked gently.

There was a pause. Jack heard the noise of a Saturday afternoon in Melbourne fading into the background as the world appeared to fall silent. In Green Park the birds flapped their wings and flew away from the nearby trees, swooping up into the sky.

Phryne found the words she needed to say, throwing herself over the emotional precipice, “I’ve realised, that, over time, I have developed, that is, I have, feelings for you. As more than a friend. And, maybe, it would be, I mean, I would like to, if you want to, if you felt the same, maybe we could try and see what we might be. To each other.” Phryne stopped talking, pulling her feet up under her chin as she sat on the bench.

Jack blinked. He pinched his thigh just to check he was definitely awake. He was. He swallowed, finding he was suddenly having difficulty breathing. He was absolutely stunned. Jack felt suddenly like he was an awkward, gangly teenager again. A part of him considered that only Phryne could do this over the phone, the night after the biggest party of her year, and whilst she was on the other side of the world.

“I believe this is the point where you say something,” said Phryne quietly. She suddenly feared that she had read everything quite incorrectly, and allowed others to persuade her that Jack felt more than he did.

“Right. Yes. Of course.” Jack cleared his throat, “Yes.”

“Yes?” queried Phryne, moving her feet back off the bench and sitting up straight.

Jack blinked again and decided to put his heart on the line, “I have, also found, that I have developed feelings for you. As more than a friend,” he added, judging that he may as well truly burn his bridges. “And yes, I would like to see what this, what we, might be.” He winced to himself, “Wow, I am really very bad at this.”

“I think you’re doing better than I did.” Phryne released a breath she had not realised she had been holding, and a smile broke across her face. “What happens now?”

“If I was there, I think I’d kiss you. Properly.”  Jack was in a daze.

“Well from the preview I’ve had, I think I’d rather enjoy that.” Phryne smiled, and Jack could hear the lightness returning to her tone. Jack just smiled; his mind firing in a thousand directions at once.

“I wish you were here” said Phryne.

“I wish there wasn’t so far away.” 

“I’m back on Tuesday morning. I have some, loose ends, to tie up.”

“And I wish I could meet you at the airport. But I have work.”

“And I’d be exhausted.”

“Which you must be now. How long have you been awake?”

“I grabbed two hours rest before the evening reception. I am now very tired. And whilst this coffee is excellent, I really suspect that the caffeine isn’t going to have any effect at this point.” As if to demonstrate the fact, Phryne yawned, drawing her free hand up to her mouth to try to cover it.

“I should let you go.” Jack said, reluctance in his voice.

“I don’t want to go.” Phryne replied, quietly. Why had she thought she should do this on the phone? If she had waited, she could have done this face to face, and they could have moved directly to the kissing part.

“Neither do I. But this call must be costing you a fortune.”

“Such a practical man.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” Jack said with a smile. His confidence renewed, he added, “we should go for dinner, when you’re back.”

Phryne smiled and hummed as she drained the last of the coffee. “I’d like that. But do you think that maybe, whilst we figure, everything out, we could perhaps... ”

“Keep this between ourselves?” Jack ended her sentence for her.

“Just between us, yes. There’s no need to tell the whole world is there?”

“Of course not.” A thought occurred to Jack, “Weren’t you going to send me a picture of this remarkable dress you’re wearing?”

“I was, wasn’t I? I’ll message the picture to you when I get back to the flat.” She yawned again.

“I’m going to let you go now. Good morning, Phryne,” said Jack.

Phryne covered her mouth with her hand, her long fingers touching the edge of the phone “Good night, Jack,” she whispered, hanging up gently.

She leant back against the bench, extending her arms out. She smiled broadly and lifted her face to the sky.

Phryne felt the warmth of the sun on her face, but the early morning chill was still present. She sat and contemplated the possibility of Jack for a few minutes more, wondering how soon she would be able to see him once she had got back home. And she was relieved that their talk had been easy, in the end. It all felt much less frightening than she had thought it would be. Phryne walked slowly back to the Mayfair flat. She hauled herself up to the top floor, carelessly tossed her shoes at the foot of the bed and crawled onto the covers. She uploaded Simon’s picture of her in the dress in a message to Jack, throwing the phone onto her side table after she had pressed ‘send’. Acting automatically she opened her Facebook App and had clicked the 'status' button before she had even thought about it. The cursor blinked at her. She thought for a moment before typing,

_Amazing night, and brilliant morning. Sleep now._

She plumped up her pillows and collapsed, exhausted, into a deep sleep. She was still wearing the dress.

 

In Melbourne Jack remained sat on his sofa. He felt that he and Phryne had made a beginning of some sort. He realised there would still be a lot for them to work out, if they were to make a go of, well, whatever they were now. His heart felt lighter than it had in years. He made himself a cup of coffee, wondering whether Phryne’s version of the drink had been in any way similar. His phone vibrated and he checked the message from Phryne. She looked sensational. He clicked back to his Wall and saw that Phryne had updated her status. 'Brilliant' stood out to him like a beacon. He so wanted to say something in reply, but remembered their agreement. He 'liked' it instead.

Jack was struggling to believe that Phryne appeared to have chosen to be with him and was still in a daze when he met up with Tommo and Dave at The G. At one point Tommo teased him for his seeming absent-mindedness. Abbotsford’s match against Brisbane went well, and they managed to win. But Jack could not have told anyone what happened in the match.


	23. Sunday 1st May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne's going home!

Phryne awoke from a night’s sleep that had started too late and was finishing too early. She was woken now by her father barging his way into her bedroom and throwing The Mail on Sunday, the Sunday Express and The Sunday People towards her.

“Up, Phryne. _Now_ ” her father roared.

Phryne groaned and clutched her head. Following the reception, and the after-party, and the telephone call with Jack she had staggered to the flat and collapsed to sleep. She had emerged early on Saturday afternoon to find Simon had, according to her mother, returned only an hour earlier. She had enjoyed an exceptionally long shower, eaten a full breakfast, imbibed rather a lot of tea and then gone out, returning once again in the early hours. Her sleep pattern was a complete mess.

And now her father was dithering on at her, thrusting papers towards her and barking at her to tell him what was going on.

“Father, it is far too early. Why are you here?” this latter was a valid question; Phryne’s father was supposed to be in Gloucester; where he was most of the time. Phryne’s mother spent most of her time in London. It was an arrangement Phryne appreciated.

“It is ten o’clock in the morning. Some of us have been up long enough to do some work before driving here.” Phryne’s father was red faced and ruddy. He was a tall, plump man, whose physical presence was often over-bearing. “Now you will tell me my girl, what you are doing with young Harry?”

Phryne sat up, slowly and picked up the pile of papers. She flicked through The Mail.

Yesterday’s papers had all featured numerous pictures of the wedding. They had focused on William and Kate and the other members of their immediate families. Today’s papers featured guests arriving at the evening reception, and photographs from the ‘after-party’. There was one of Harry on the mini-bus, and some of Beatrice and Eugenie leaving The Goring in the very early hours of the morning. And there, on pages four and five, was an enormous close-up picture of Phryne and Harry, wrapped around each other, waving to the cameras, huge grins on their faces. A smaller picture was underneath; the shot of Phryne turned into Harry’s shoulder. Harry had a mischievous grin on his face. The copy, which was limited, talked about the various guests and then moved onto Harry and Phryne:

“ _Spotted together for the third time in a week, Prince Harry and the Honourable Phryne Fisher had to hold each other up as they stumbled into The Goring Hotel in the early hours of Saturday morning._

_Harry, whose duties as Best Man for Prince William had ended after a spectacular fireworks display in the gardens of Buckingham Palace at 3am, looked to be letting his hair down at last as he and Miss Fisher continued their close relationship._

_Miss Fisher has been seen with Harry at a Polo Match last weekend in Gloucestershire, and at a Charity fund-raising reception last Wednesday. Onlookers have said that the pair have appeared delighted to see each other all week, and were often hugging and touching. A close friend of the Prince has commented to us that he believes Miss Fisher is being slowly brought into the ‘inner circle’, and that she can soon expect to relocate back to London from Melbourne, which has been her home for the last three years._

_Party-goers at The Goring on Saturday morning admitted to our reporters that they had seen Prince Harry and Miss Fisher talking intently in a corner of the public lounge for an extended period of time, before they both discreetly left._

_We wonder, has an agreement been reached between Harry and Miss Fisher, and can we expect to see them confirmed as a couple shortly? Clarence House has refused to be drawn, stating that ‘The Prince’s private life remains just that – private, and we will make no comment with regards to any of his personal relationships’. Miss Fisher could not be reached for a comment, and staff at the business she runs in Melbourne would only continue their statements of ‘No Comment’ when approached by our Melbourne bureau._ ”

Phryne groaned. She could really do without the nonsense of a tabloid press with the whiff of a headline generating story. At least Dot was maintaining the ‘no comment’ line.

Phryne glanced through the other papers; they were reporting the ‘story’ in a similar manner, and all with similar photographs. It occurred to her that Jack might well see this and panic. She picked up her phone to send him a message or a text, but was stopped by her father. He snatched the phone from her.

“No, Phryne. You will not just text someone, or message someone. You will tell me what is going on.”

“There is nothing going on father. Harry and I are just good friends.”

“I don’t believe you, Phryne. The two of you are all over each other in these pictures. And don’t think I don’t remember that Christmas party where I found the two of you wrapped around each other in the library.”

Phryne blushed slightly. That had been in the early days of her ‘arrangement’ with Harry, and they had both been slightly mortified. They had taken to being more subtle after that; avoiding each other’s homes if at all possible. How a public hotel, the stable blocks or even on one occasion a disused church graveyard, had been more discrete, she wasn’t entirely sure, but at least there had been no fear of anyone who knew them disturbing them.

“Whatever you may think, father, you are quite wrong.” Phryne wanted to tell her father that he was wrong. She wanted to confide in someone that she was tentatively involved with someone else, but she didn’t want to ruin the idea of Jack by so much as mentioning his existence to her over-bearing father.

“Look, Phryne. I know you’re supposed to fly back to Melbourne tonight, but you don’t have to go. You could stay here and work on this thing with Harry. I think he might be smitten Phryne.” Her father sat carefully on the edge of the bed. Phryne thought that he almost looked concerned.

Phryne snorted. “For a start, I do have to go home,” she smiled slightly at the thought of ‘home’. “I have Jane to think of.”

“Well get that Doctor friend of yours to take over. Or, if you’re really concerned, bring her over here. You’ll have to bury her at a boarding school of course, but I’m sure she’ll cope.”

“No! Father, no! I will not abandon Jane. And I will not uproot her. She is settled, she is doing well in school and she is loved and cared for. And I am not involved with Harry.” Phryne clutched a pillow to her stomach.

“Not yet maybe. But that’s because you’ve been gone too long. Let him see you a few more times and he’ll make a move. Think about it, you could be a Princess.” Phryne looked at her father who had a look in his eyes that was almost pleading.

At that Phryne balled her fists up and screamed into her pillow. “Please leave, father. I need to shower and dress and pack my suitcases. And give me my phone.”

She held out her palm and her father reluctantly handed her the phone. She scrolled to Facebook and quickly messaged Jack;

_Please remember, the British Papers make things up. Being harassed by father, leaving London cannot come soon enough. xx P_

Her father stood watching her, “Well why not stay anyway Phryne. It’s been too long.”

She closed the phone, tossing it onto the side table. She rolled back under the covers. Her father be damned, she was leaving tonight. She pulled the duvet up over her head, hearing her father sigh and leave the room. He had left the newspapers behind.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Phryne checked her phone. It was already critically low on battery. She thought one charger was in her hold luggage; she had no clue what had happened to the other one. Thinking back, she wondered whether she had left it plugged into the wall at The Goring? She supposed it would make little difference now; the flight departed in just over thirty minutes and even Phryne would not want to use her phone on a plane. She decided to send a tweet before they were called to board:

**London: you were marvellous! I was fabulous! Let’s do this again - and sooner!**

She also decided that if she was in for a Penny she may as well be in for a Pound and messaged Jack. He hadn’t replied to her previous message, but she assumed he was working or otherwise occupied. He did work very long hours on occasion. She hoped he hadn’t merely read the newspapers and jumped to the wrong conclusion. He could be very stubborn, but then, so could she, she acknowledged. She typed another message to him:

_About to board first plane with Simon (thank god for friends one can talk with on long-haul flights). Battery critically low, so this may be it until I’m back, and have dealt with the jet-lag. xx P_

Phryne was far too excited for someone who was about to spend almost twenty four hours on a plane. Phryne and Simon had discussed it between them when their invitations had been received, and Phryne had explained that as delightful as a weekend in Singapore was on the way to London, on the return journey she would just want to get back as soon as she was able. They would therefore part company at Changi, and Phryne would only have to wait a little over two hours to board the connecting flight to Melbourne.

“Still messaging, Phryne?” asked Simon, who was himself still recovering from his weekend.

“One last message,” smiled Phryne, “I’m almost out of power.”

“You could just buy another charger.” Simon motioned towards the row of kiosks in the terminal building.

“I know. But I’d have to buy an adapter or it’d be useless once I got back home. And I’m not sure I can be bothered. I mean, no-one’s going to try to ring me when we’re in the air, are they? Everyone knows when my flight gets back. And a little bird tells me that you have been saying I’ve been using it too much,” she was rambling, she knew it. The intensity of the last few days was catching up with her. The words of ‘advice’ from her father had grated on her nerves all through Sunday dinner, and during the drive to Heathrow. The occasional ‘hints’ that Phryne might want to return to London as soon as possible together with tiredness from a  somewhat disturbed sleep cycle were not helping.

They boarded the plane, which pushed back from the gate entirely on schedule. Phryne tried not to wince when the pilot announced that they were scheduled to touch down in Changi the following evening local time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changi is the name of the airport in Singapore.


	24. Monday 2nd May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watch, possibly in horror, as The Daily Mail does what The Daily Mail does best...

At Five minutes to six the phone on Jack’s desk rang. He picked it up, absently barking his name into it.

The desk clerk spoke cautiously, “I’m sorry to disturb you Sir, but there’s a juvenile down here asking for you Sir. She’s being most insistent Sir.”

“Who is it?” Jack asked, glancing at his PC Desktop. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He had been so close to being able to leave and get an early night. He had battled through today churning paperwork after last night’s interview and arrest. All he wanted now was to go home, have a warm shower and collapse into a deep sleep.

There was some low chatter, as the desk clerk relayed the question. Jack sighed; what were they teaching them in training these days? “She says, ‘Jane Ross’, Sir.”

Jack leapt to his feet, placing his free hand on his hip, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he considered what might be wrong. “Is she all right?” he demanded, suddenly much more alert.

“She seems fine, Sir. But she is very insistent on speaking with you, Sir.”

“I’ll be right down,” said Jack, slamming the phone down and bolting for the lift. When it had failed to arrive within ten seconds, Jack swore loudly and rushed down the stairs instead.

He slid into the reception area at SKR, to see Jane sitting on one of the sofas, looking distressed. He sat down beside her. “Jane?” he asked, “Are you all right? What’s wrong? Has someone hurt you?” Jack suddenly determined that he would arrest any teenage boys who he discovered within a ten mile radius of the girl. It quite shocked him how much he had become protective of her.

“I’m fine. But it’s Phryne, Jack.”

“Phryne? She’s on a plane, isn’t she?” Jack swallowed, nervously.

“Yes. Yes. She texted me just before her flight left. It’s not that. It’s, well, this,” said Jane, as she extracted a laptop from her school bag and opened it up. It was already turned on, with a browser window opened. Jane turned the laptop towards Jack, showing him the webpage. It was from the Daily Mail website. There was a blurry picture and above it the headline:

“ **THE PICTURE THAT PROVES THEY’RE NOT ‘JUST FRIENDS’ – PRINCE HARRY CAUGHT ON CAMERA WITH PHRYNE FISHER** ”

Jack looked more closely at the picture. It was not the best quality, but it was very definitely Phryne. And she was very definitely kissing Prince Harry. Jack tried very hard to keep calm. He took several deep breaths and read the copy:

“ _Caught on camera early on Saturday morning in the lounge of The Goring Hotel in Belgravia, our EXCLUSIVE photograph shows the third in line to the throne kissing the Honourable Phryne Fisher in a manner which is quite dishonourable!_

_Speculation has been rife regarding the true nature of the relationship between the Prince and Miss Fisher all week. This picture appears to show once and for all that the pair ARE romantically involved._

_The source who supplied the picture, who wished to remain anonymous, told us; “they’d been sitting in the corner of the lounge, talking really intently for ages.  They were very close to each other, they held hands quite a lot, and Harry was stroking her arm and her shoulders all the time. Then, suddenly, they were kissing. And they were really going for it. I just wish I’d been able to get more pictures. They disappeared after that…_

_Readers may recall our photographs from outside the ‘after-party’ at The Goring Hotel. Since those were published in our Sunday print edition, and here on our web-site, more photographs of Miss Fisher have come to light. Below are pictures of Miss Fisher taken just after dawn on Saturday, talking on her phone. It can only be presumed that she was speaking with Prince Harry following their tête à tête. We have also acquired video footage of that conversation, which is currently being examined by our lip-reading experts and which will be uploaded to this website as soon as it is available._

_Miss Fisher is understood to currently be on a flight returning to Melbourne, where she is expected to arrive late on Monday night - Tuesday morning in local Australian time. We wonder how long she will remain in Melbourne for, now that her involvement with Harry cannot be denied?_ ”

Jack’s jaw dropped. He turned to Jane.

“They mention a video?” he asked, a sense of dread falling over him. He was trying very hard not to break down and cry. He knew it had been too good to be true when Phryne had called him. He couldn’t believe he had been so stupid as to risk his heart. His first reaction was that he would never be able to face her again.

“I’d need internet to play it,” said Jane, “my data plan isn’t enough for streaming.”

“Ah,” said Jack, recovering himself slightly. They could connect upstairs, but he couldn’t take Jane away from reception without a chaperone. And the day shift was just finishing up. Dot appeared in the reception area from the St Kilda Road and moved over to them.

“Jane! Inspector? How are you?” Dot stood looking at the two, Jane shifting nervously and Jack looking like a rabbit caught in headlights.

“Jane’s a little concerned, actually,” said Jack, adjusting his tie, “We need to go up to my office, but I must have a chaperone, as Jane is a minor. Could I possibly prevail upon you?” Jack asked. He liked Dot, but she made him nervous. Not as nervous as Phryne, of course, but he felt that Dot was learning appraisal skills from Phryne, and Phryne was plainly an excellent teacher.

“Of course,” confirmed Dot, “I’m supposed to meet Hugh, will he still be upstairs?”

“I believe so. Now, I’ll get you some Visitor Passes,” he said, deciding to bury himself in the business of the occasion. He dreaded to think what was on the video, what sights he would see. He wondered who she had rung first - him or Harry? He had been foolish to ever suppose that Phryne could commit herself to him in any way. He tried not to think about the fact that he was plainly to be a fling whilst she wrapped up her involvements in Melbourne. That was what she had said, wasn’t it, ‘loose ends to tie up’? He supposed he was a ‘loose end’. He considered that he should change his mind, step back from the precipice of involvement they found themselves at, but somehow, he found he could not bring himself to. Let her devour him and burn him; leave him a crumpled wreck in her wake. He was so consumed by the very thought of her now that he supposed the consummation of them was almost a moot point. He would just have to hope the brevity of it would compensate for the loss of her from his life forever. He supposed it didn’t really matter, in the end. Heartbreak was the only possible outcome.

Lanyards fixed, Jack ushered them into the lift. He leant back against the wall of the lift with such force that his phone, in his inside jacket pocket, bounced against his chest. He fished it out – he had messages on Facebook. He realised now he had not checked his phone for some time.

He had been so busy at work over the last two days that the habit had fallen by the wayside. On Sunday he had been in work and engaged in a war of wits with a particularly vexing suspect. When Phryne’s message had reached his phone, he remained utterly unaware. At midnight the suspect had finally cracked, and Jack had been able to get home a mere three hours later. It was one of the hazards of his job; unpredictably long hours. Jack suspected it had not helped his relationship with Rosie towards the end - it had been one more nail in the coffin, and Jack supposed idly that it would have scuppered any future with Phryne, eventually.

As the lift rattled and wheezed upwards he flicked to the messaging app on his phone, and noticed he had two messages from Phryne. He cursed himself for his inability, even now, not to be drawn to her like a moth to a flame, as he opened the messages. The most recent had been sent just before she boarded the plane. It ended with ‘ _xx P_ ’. Was she really so cold that she was going to insist on watching as his heart shattered into a thousand tiny pieces? The previous message appeared to have been sent on Sunday. Sunday evening to him, Sunday morning to her; he calculated.  It opened ‘Please remember, the British Papers make things up’. Jack was confused – they didn’t fake photographs as well did they?

The lift reached the Homicide floor and Jack escorted Jane and Dot to his office. They passed Hugh’s desk. He threw a quizzical eye at them, and after a brief exchange of raised eyebrows and gestures, Hugh followed the three of them into Jack’s office.

Everyone bar Collins took a seat, Hugh hovering behind Dot. Jack turned his PC screen around so that it could be seen by everyone. He sighed. This was very definitely a breach of the IT policy. He couldn’t even claim it was related to a case if they asked. He opened a browser window and brought up The Daily Mail website, quickly finding the article.

“Right, let’s see how bad it is” he said, pressing play.

All four of the room’s occupants leaned forwards, focusing intently. The footage was surprisingly good quality, and Jack was quite certain he was looking at Phryne in the dress that he had been having some fairly involved fantasies about since she had sent him the picture. It was not possible to actually hear what she was saying, but, just to make Jack’s torment complete, the newspaper had helpfully laid subtitles over the pictures as she spoke. Jack watched as Phryne took a sip from a takeaway cup.

He watched as she went through what were obviously the preliminary moments of the conversation.

“ _And where is that? Exactly?_ ”

Jack frowned. Firstly, it struck him that this conversation was feeling very familiar, and secondly, wouldn’t she have known where Harry lived, if they had been friends for years? He pulled his attention back to the video.

“ _What can you see? Tell me the sights._ ”

There was a long pause now, and Jack tried to recall what he had said to her when she had called him. He found his attention wandering somewhat until Jane inhaled sharply.

“Oh, this is the start of the really meaty stuff,” she said, as she leaned forwards even further.

“ _We need to talk. And I think it’s time we placed our cards on the table,_ ” Jack saw Phryne pick up her coffee. He reached into his suit for his phone and looked again at Phryne’s messages; ‘please remember the British Papers make things up’. Jack had a dawning, awful realisation of what he was about to watch on screen.

“ _When you, we,…. the kiss it’s just I rationalised it as a goodbye kiss between friends but it would seem having taken advice from a concerned third party that it might have meant more and I’ve sat here and I’ve thought about it and about well quite a lot of things and I’ve realised something which apparently everyone else in the entire world is already aware of._ ”

There was a pause as Phryne quite obviously gathered her courage. “ _I’ve realised that over time I have developed that is I have feelings for you as more than a friend and maybe it would be I mean I would like to if you want to if you felt the same maybe we could try and see what we might be to each other_ ” And the Phryne on screen pulled her feet up onto the bench and looked genuinely worried.

Jack leapt forward and paused the video playback. He found himself suddenly frozen to the spot; half sitting, half standing, hovering over his desk.

“Why’ve you stopped it? There’s a really good bit in a minute where they’re fairly sure she’s talking about kissing him. She seems to really like it,” said Jane, who was trying to cover her fear that Phryne was about to abandon her with excitement regarding the possibility of her guardian having an affair with royalty.

Jack, who wasn’t really listening to Jane, found his mind had split itself into two halves. One half had gone very, very still and was trying to tamp down an immense and rising anger at the fact that Phryne’s conversation with him was available for the world to watch. The other half was racing at a thousand miles an hour digesting the fact that Phryne was quite assuredly not on the phone to Harry, and was probably not about to crush his heart into a thousand tiny glass fragments. At least, not yet. Unless Phryne had managed to have the exact same conversation twice, which he doubted, the newspaper had quite obviously got entirely the wrong idea. He recalled the messages he and Phryne had sent to each other over the past few weeks. The quiet half of Jack’s mind won, as he stood up fully.

“How dare they! How dare they record her, on the phone? How dare they? What do they possibly think gives them the right? This is very obviously a very private conversation.” Jack was turning red with the anger continuing to build within him. Hugh’s eyes had gone wide with shock; he had never seen his boss so angry. He took a slight step backwards, bumping into the wall of Jack’s office.

“But she’s having it in a park,” ventured Jane, quietly.

“So?” spluttered Jack, trying not to shout at the teenager.

“Well I believe, Sir, that she can’t have a reasonable expectation of privacy.” Collins interjected, realising as he spoke the words that he had made an error, and wondering whether the wall would oblige and swallow him.

“Yes she can!” Jack bellowed. “And what on earth makes them think she’s on the phone to Harry?”

“They’re putting it together with the pictures of them this last week and the kissing photo from The Goring,” said Jane, who sniffed as if she was perhaps trying to suppress a tear.

Jack had to admit that the photograph of Phryne and Harry ‘kissing’ was something he was going to have to confront at some point. He knew that Phryne flirted with everyone, and it was logical, was it not, that Phryne would flirt with someone who she had known a long time, who was a friend, who was, after all, a man, and therefore ripe for flirting with? The newspaper had taken the pictures of Phryne and Harry and the contents of a phone conversation which he was quite sure had been acquired under dubious circumstances and extrapolated wildly. The small part of Jack’s mind which was still capable of rational thought could see how the conclusion could have been reached. The point at which flirting transitioned to kissing was unclear to Jack, but that was a consideration for later.

Jane’s phone rang, and she fished it from her school bag.

“Hi Liz” she said, shakily. “I’m at the Police Station. With Dot. And Hugh. We’re in Jack’s office.” There was a pause and then Jane held the phone out towards Jack. “She says she’d like to speak to you.”

Jack took the phone, “Hello?”

“Jack? It’s Mac. We’ve got a problem.” The voice was calm and measured.

“Have we?” Jack felt that was possibly an understatement.

“Look, I don’t know what the hell Phryne’s been up to, because I’m on nights and I don’t read the news anymore, and frankly I only just got up, but Ray just texted me, and apparently there are TV crews from his place headed to Phryne’s house early tomorrow morning. And Ray says if his lot are going to be there, it’s a fair bet the others will be too. So we need to look after Jane. And Jack, you’re the policeman here, so you’re up”.

“Right. What do you suggest?” Jack pushed his fingers inside the collar of his shirt and attempted to loosen his tie which suddenly felt very constricting. He was somewhat bewildered by the speed with which matters appeared to be escalating. What did TV Crews want? Where they going to besiege Phryne’s house? How was he supposed to deal with a fifteen year old girl?

“Find somewhere for her to stay tonight. Because then she won’t have to dodge them on the way to school in the morning. And I would offer mine, but, as I say…”

“Nights” finished Jack. “Right, yes, leave it with me.” He handed the phone back to Jane, who spoke briefly to Mac as Dot checked her phone which had vibrated with a message alert.

“Oh, it’s Mr B. He says there are some men outside Miss Fisher’s house. And they have cameras with long lenses. And are ringing the house repeatedly. Which is why he has suddenly mastered the art of texting.”

Jack groaned as he sat down, rubbing the hells of his hands into his eyes. “How is it, that even when she is on a plane, Phryne can cause this much chaos?” he asked.

“I’ve learnt not to ask. And to have a _lot_ of spreadsheets,” replied Dot. Jane had returned her phone to her bag.

“Liz says I’m going to have to stay the night somewhere. What’s happening?” the girl asked.

“It seems that the press, which now includes TV people, are quite interested in Phryne, Miss Fisher. This whole situation means that there are rather a lot of photographers who want to get pictures of Phryne. And Mac says that there are going to be TV crews outside your house tomorrow morning. So Mac, Liz,” Jack felt very uncomfortable using Mac’s first name, it definitely felt like crossing a line. He swallowed and continued. “She feels, and I agree, that you should stay somewhere else tonight.”

“Oh. What about Ruth? I’m sure her mum wouldn’t mind.” Jane suggested, looking tearful.

“I’m not sure that would be advisable. We can’t control the situation there, and I’m not sure how on earth I would explain any of this to someone who wasn’t already involved,” replied Jack, cautiously. He didn’t want to reject Jane’s idea, but the thought of delivering Jane to a friend’s house, with all the questions that would entail, seemed unwise. A silence fell over the small group as they all pondered a solution. Jane sniffed once more.

“Alice and I have a sofa bed, which I am more than willing to bring into use.” Dot interjected into the silence, sensing that the somewhat blurred lines of her employment were about to become even more trampled.

“Right. Jane, are you all right to stay with Miss Williams overnight?” asked Jack.

“Erm, yes? That sounds, fun?” Jane was still somewhat shocked at the evening’s developments.

“Excellent. So, you can stay with Miss Williams, and she’ll make sure you get to school tomorrow. Now, can you make a list of anything you might need from your house for tomorrow, and then Miss Williams can contact Mrs Butler, and ask her to sort those things out, and Constable Collins and myself will just be outside discussing, erm, logistics and such matters” Jack had decided to adopt a position of viewing this as if it was a police operation.

“But what about Phryne? She’s back tomorrow, shouldn’t we try and ring her? Will she be at Singapore yet?” asked the girl.

Jack reluctantly sat down, and opened another tab. Silently praying that no-one would ask too many searching questions he opened the flight tracker. He filtered the information down and found Phryne’s flight. “She’s a good hour out. And surely her battery will have died?” Jack tried to make it sound like a question, rather than the statement he suspected it would be.

“We should try ringing her anyway. Surely she should know what she’s coming back to? These pictures were only published this morning, she won’t have any idea what’s being said. How long do you think she’s going to be back here for? Do you think she’s going to move back to London soon?” Jane pressed the point.

“Fine, when her flight lands in Singapore, we’ll try ringing her. But we might be out of luck.” Jack paused and decided to try to reassure the girl, “Look, I’m sure this is all just a terrible misunderstanding. I’m led to believe that the press often just makes stuff up. And obviously, they’ve picked up on Phryne, and the fact that she knows Harry. I’m sure Jane, that this is all just a big mistake” Jack added, standing up again. He indicated to Hugh that they should step outside. As they did, Dot extracted a rather large notepad and pen from her handbag and offered them to Jane. As Jack closed the door to his office, he was sure that he heard what sounded like a sob from Jane. Perhaps best to give them a few minutes, he thought. None of his nieces was old enough to have reached the ‘tearful teenager’ stage and he was very unsure how he was supposed to react.

Jack moved to a quiet corner of the Homicide floor and beckoned Collins to step closer. “I am going to presume, Collins, that you know where Miss Williams lives?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Excellent. And, forgive me for being blunt, Collins, but could I presume that you have, umhum, stayed the night?” Jack fixed his gaze on a spot just past Collins’ left shoulder.

“Erm, er, erm,” stuttered Collins, turning a shade of scarlet to match Jack’s earlier enraged state.

“I’m not asking for details, Collins, just a simple ‘yes’ will suffice.” Jack added.

“Mmm,” was all Hugh could manage as he nodded his head in confirmation.

“So it will be acceptable for you to spend the night there this evening? I think it unlikely that there is much interest in locating Miss Ross, but it would be best to be on the safe side, I feel. And if anyone does attempt anything unsavoury, at least you, as a Police Officer, will already be at the scene. Unofficially, of course.”

“Of course. Yes, Sir” mumbled Hugh, finding the pattern on his shoes to be suddenly fascinating.

“Right. Here’s how this is going to work. Miss Williams will contact Mrs Butler, who will prepare Jane’s belongings. We will ask Mr Butler to bring them here. You will then take Miss Williams and Miss Ross to Miss Williams’….” Jack gestured with his hand, requesting assistance.

“It’s a flat, Sir.”

“Thank you Collins, Miss Williams’ flat. You will contact me to confirm that everything is proceeding smoothly. Tomorrow morning you will take Miss Ross to her school; Miss Williams will accompany you also. You will then take Miss Williams to her office, and, presuming that there is no-one there causing any bother, you will then come here and we will proceed with our day as normal. Any questions, Collins?”

“What about Miss Fisher, Sir? I believe Jane is terribly worried about her, Sir.” Hugh decided to draw a discrete veil over the fairly obvious emotional involvement of his boss in the entire affair.

“Well, by the time the Butler’s have worked their magic, I imagine that Miss Fisher’s flight will have landed in Singapore, and we can assess that, situation, then.” Jack swallowed, and adjusted his tie.

They made their way back into Jack’s office and explained the plan to Dot and Jane, who both agreed to the idea. Jane looked red-eyed and Jack decided that discretion was advisable and chose not to mention the fact. Dot tried not to blush when Jack explained that Hugh would have to stay overnight, for the sake of Jane’s safety, of course. Dot texted Mr Butler, and managed to speak with Mrs Butler. Jack dispatched Collins to the vending machine to obtain refreshments for Jane and Dot. Collins left to make a quick trip to pack his own overnight bag. The small group of Jane, Dot and Jack sat and waited for their still forming plan to set itself into motion.

As they did so, Jack read through the whole of the last few days’ articles. Bearing in mind Phryne’s message to him from last week, he examined them all closely, determining to view them as if they were evidence in a case. There was a lot of supposition and suggestion, and a surprisingly small amount of ‘facts’ that could not be gleaned from either Phryne’s father’s Wikipedia entry, or Phryne’s own public social media posts or her business’ website. He turned his attention to the post that Jane had shown him in the lobby. The ‘source’ was unnamed. There was no escaping that the picture was Phryne, but it occurred to him that it was the only ‘kissing’ picture. Surely, if, as this ‘source’ had stated, they had been ‘really going for it’, then there would, in fact, be more than just this one picture? The hugging, the shoulder touching and the close conversation Jack dismissed instantaneously as actions of mere friendship.

As Jack was finishing reading through the last article again, mentally making notes, Collins returned to the office with a number of small cotton tote bags. Evidently these contained Jane’s requirements for the following day.

“Mr Butler says that Mrs Butler decided to use these bags so as to reduce suspicion. Apparently there are already quite a few photographers outside the house, and they’re taking pictures every time the Butlers turn a light on or off”. Hugh stated, handing the items towards Jane and Dot. Jack checked the flight tracker. Phryne’s plane had landed some ten minutes ago.

“I believe Miss Fisher’s flight has landed. Jane, do you want to call her?” Jack asked. Jane nodded and pressed her phone’s screen, before holding it in front of her.

“I’ve put it on speaker” she said, as she waited for the call to connect. The line was quiet, and then began to sound a ring tone. After what felt like the longest wait in the world, a voice kicked in.

“ _Darlings! This is Phryne. Tone. Speak, don’t speak, whichever. You know the drill._ ”

Jack tried not to laugh. He had never heard her voicemail message before. Jane hung up with an exasperated sigh.

“She must be out of battery, like you said. Or maybe she’s just not turned it on yet?” Jane spoke, quietly. “What do we do now? We have to tell her about the press, don’t we?” Jane was looking upset again. By agreement they tried ringing Phyrne again. They tried another three times over the next twenty minutes, and each time it went to voicemail. “What do we do? Her flight gets in really early,” said Jane.

Jack had been racking his brains, now as well as a plan for Jane he had to devise a plan to deal with Phryne. Which was probably a very bad idea. Phryne never took well to being ‘handled’. Suddenly an idea came to him and he reached into his jacket for his phone. He scrolled through the contacts, found the correct one and pressed to dial. “Is it possible to speak with Senior Sergeant David Evans……Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, Homicide at SKR.”

As Jack waited to be connected he smiled at Jane and Dot who were looking at him with confusion. He stood up and wandered out of his office and towards the small kitchen area. When he returned some twenty minutes later he announced that he had a plan for dealing with Phryne. Between them they made a series of further calls, agreed on logistics and exchanged phone numbers. A further thirty minutes later they had a good, solid, somewhat complex plan. By general agreement Phryne would be given the option to ‘do her own thing’ if she wanted to; and a certain amount of flexibility had therefore been included.

Jack glanced at the clock on his PC – it was Nine o’clock, and he suddenly realised that he was shattered. He now also still had preparation to do of his own, and, he had no idea when Jane was supposed to go to sleep. Or if she had any unfinished homework. A quick enquiry revealed that tomorrow brought ‘Double Mandarin’, Maths, IT and History. Jack was slightly taken aback, especially with Jane’s evident excitement for a day that sounded like it would be his worst nightmare. He was however, unsurprised to learn that the girl had completed all her homework. He sent Dot and Jane away with Collins, powered down his PC and left SKR, driving home quickly.

A few hours ago he had wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed. It was still at the top of his wish list, but he forced himself to attend to one final task in readiness for what would now be an exceptionally early morning, and he suspected, a very long day. At Ten o’clock, all prepared, he set his alarm clock for 4am and fell into a sleep which would be all too brief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The British tabloids have, genuinely, in the past, videoed people having conversations and had lip-readers deduce what is being said. They even figured out what William, Kate and Kate's dad said between themselves when Kate and her dad got to the altar at the start of the wedding ceremony.


	25. Tuesday 3rd May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one requires suspension of your disbelief somewhat...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember Dave, Jack's mate from the footy? He's a *really* good friend.

Jack had arrived at 4.30am. ‘Sergeant Evans’ had given him a briefing that had almost terrified him before handing him a security lanyard. They had walked from the small station building to the Terminal, and Jack had been taken aback by the sheer number of press photographers who were milling around the Arrivals area.

“Is that normal?” he asked, snapping a photograph of the photographers.

“No. It’s Five am Jack, they don’t just hang around on the off-chance. You really do pick ‘em, don’t you? At least you rang early enough that I managed to convince the media guys that they should turn down requests from the TV news crews to camp out on the forecourt,” replied Dave, showing Jack through a discreetly hidden doorway. “Jack, are you sure about this?” he asked.

“Not at all Dave, but she has a teenager who will hold me responsible if I don’t do this, and the girl scares me.” Jack tried not to shove his hands into his pockets; it would ruin the line of his clothes and Dave had been very clear about not doing anything that could be viewed suspiciously.

Dave laughed, “Jack Robinson scared by a teenage girl?”

“They hunt in packs Dave, it’s terrifying. One of her friends called me ancient.” Jack confessed. “How do we find out where the flight comes in to?”

“We look at the boards Jack. And then we go to the Gate. And as I said yesterday, I can’t guarantee anything past that.” Dave was automatically scouring the corridors as they walked deeper into the Terminal building.

“I appreciate that Dave, and thanks for even sorting this out for me” Jack was slightly dazed – the earliness of the hour, the cavernous airport Terminal, the thought of what he might say when he saw Phryne.

“I’ll count it as CPD or something,” Dave muttered. “Here we go, Gate 8. Come on Jack, time to get your girl.”

“Yeah, however this goes, never let her find out that you called her that.” Jack found himself having to half-jog to keep up with Dave.

“Fierce one is she?” Dave chuckled.

“You’ve seen the newspapers?”

“I have. It does look very much like she’s on with Harry.” Dave was worried about Jack. The phone call he had received last night had been confused, but it had been obvious Jack had been worried. Dave had quickly managed to get Jack to confide in him, and had tried not to be staggered when Jack had relayed exactly the extent of the favour he was hoping for. It would have been obvious, even if he hadn't managed to get Jack to open up that he was emotionally involved with this woman. This, Dave mused, was at least a somewhat positive development - that Jack had found someone after everything that had happened with Rosie, but this one seemed like she could well destroy what was left of Jack’s spirit.

“Yeah, I know it looks like that. But she’s staggeringly honest, Dave, and she tells me they’re just friends.” As Jack had quickly checked the news sites this morning he had tried, very much, not to allow his resolve to crumble. He had promised Jane he would do this. Even if Phryne had been stringing him along, he had to do this for Jane.

Jack and Dave walked quickly to the Gate. Dave spoke with the Qantas ground staff as they waited for the plane to taxi in. Jack steadied himself. He had been trying to plan what he was going to say. He wished he had been given more time to prepare. The gate was connected, and the door to the plane swung carefully open. The Flight Attendant seemed very pleased to see the ground staff, and smiled politely at Dave when he stepped forward. Jack and Dave had agreed between them that Dave would handle this part. Dave turned and beckoned towards Jack, who had remained standing a discreet distance away.

“Thank you, Sir, the flight attendant will take you on board, Sir. I will wait here.” Dave nodded slightly, trying not to crack a grin at the formality with which he was now addressing Jack.

“Thank you Sergeant,” replied Jack, sweeping his hat from his head as the Flight Attendant gestured him to follow her as she turned left on the plane.

Jack had never been in First Class before. He almost snorted at the absurdity of it. He could feel the plushness of the carpet, even through his shoes. The lighting was soft, and the chairs enormous. Another attendant was crouched down, speaking with Phryne, as the few other occupants of the cabin filtered past Jack.

“What do you mean, I have to wait here?” he could hear the anger in Phryne’s voice even from here. This was a terrible idea.

“I am sorry, Miss Fisher. We’ve been asked to hold you on the plane whilst the Victoria Police speak with you.” The flight attendant was apologetic, in the way that suggested that after an overnight flight, and this early in the morning, dealing with an irate first class passenger was the last thing she wanted to be doing.

Jack coughed, alerting the attendant to his presence as he stood in the aisle on the far side of the chair which adjoined Phryne’s. They both turned their attention to look at him. Phryne’s jaw dropped.

“Good morning Miss Fisher. I am Detective Inspector Robinson,” said Jack, flashing his warrant card at her, “I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience Miss, but the flight crew have consented to me speaking with you here, before you disembark.” Jack flashed a smile towards the young crew member, who stood up, and moved towards the curtain denoting the edge of the first class area.

“It takes about ten minutes for everyone else to disembark. And then I’m afraid we will have to ask you to leave,” she said, managing to hit kindly, disapproving and forceful in one short sentence. She exited the cabin and pulled the curtain shut behind her. The noise of other passengers from Economy class tiredly exiting the plane seeped through the expensive material.

Phryne regained the power of speech, “Jack? Is it Jane, what’s happened?” Her tone was suddenly panicked.

Jack had been expecting the question. “She’s fine. I saw her last night, she’s well. That’s not why I’m here.”

“So why are you here? And what are you wearing?” Phryne was practically agog and Jack noted that she was appraising him with widening eyes.

“I’m here because you have to know what’s going on, Phryne. And, I was advised that achieving, this,” he waved a hand around, vaguely indicating himself and the plane, “would be easier if I was in uniform. And this is the closest I have these days.” Jack tugged at the bottom hem of his Dress Uniform jacket. He always felt slightly uncomfortable wearing it; it was stiff from being worn infrequently and he had had to look up the uniform guidelines late last night to ensure he had got all the correct components.

Phryne was stunned. Jack looked ridiculously handsome. She didn’t even know he had a formal uniform; he had only ever worn a suit in the time she had known him. This was bordering on being better than the cycling gear. “Well achieve away, Inspector. And tell me what is going on.” She patted the chair next to her.

Jack sat down, extracting his phone from his trouser pocket. “OK, well, you messaged me, on Sunday? And you said that the British Papers make stuff up. I’m not sure what story you were referring to; because there have been quite a lot of stories now. But we’re all fairly sure that you haven’t seen this one,” Jack paused, and swept his phone to the relevant page that Jane had bookmarked for him when they had been waiting in his office at SKR.

Phryne read the headline and looked at the picture, “Jack!” she said, with some evident distress, “I promise you, this is not what they are saying it is. I am not romantically involved with Harry.” Oh god, she thought, she was managing to bugger things up with Jack before they had even started. And without actually having done anything. She was fairly sure she would be minded to complain to the PCC. If it wasn’t utterly futile and a guarantee of worse to come.

“I believe that, Phryne. But I’m not the one you need to convince.” Jack had attempted to consider the situation rationally as he had driven to the airport that morning. He knew Phryne was not wilfully cruel, and he had been able to tell, during their talk on the phone, that she was just as nervous about the possibility of ‘them’ as he was. He took his phone from her and opened his photo folder. “All of these chaps are in the arrivals hall. Mac had a tip off from Ray last night that TV crews will, if they’re not there already, be outside your house shortly. And the photographers arrived there last night and have been snapping Mr and Mrs Butler through the windows. And, before you ask, Jane’s fine. We had her stay at Dot’s last night. With a police guard. Well, Collins.”

“Why are there photographers camped outside my house?” Phryne felt like her brain was in a fog. She was so tired, and it was affecting her ability to process everything Jack was saying.

“Because apparently the possibility of Prince Harry having an Aussie, aristocratic, girlfriend has sent the press into a feeding frenzy.” Jack tried not to grind his teeth as he spoke.

“But there’s nothing going on! They have, what was that? One picture?” Phryne was confused. Even by the standards of the tabloids, this was reaching.

“There’s more” Jack sighed.

“More?” Phryne continued to look confused.

“Yes. Overnight your father has released a statement saying he expects your trip here to be brief, that he hopes you will return to the UK shortly and that whilst he can’t say anything at this time, he is very eager for you to make some decisions about your future. He also hinted that actually, you and Harry have some sort of involvement.” Jack tried to be as bluntly factual as possible. When he had checked the websites first thing this morning he had been surprised to read the statement from Lord Fisher. It had achieved the feat of propelling Phryne onto a rolling ‘ticker tape’ across the foot of the TV news screens. She was now being followed by Australian as well as British press.

“My father said that?” Phryne shook her head. She should have known that her father had relented too easily on Sunday in London.

“He did. I’d show you the link to that, but I’m afraid the technology has defeated me somewhat. And there’s more.” Jack felt like he could understand why messengers got shot; the look on Phryne’s face had just escalated from ‘confused’ to ‘murderous’.

“There’s more? Oh god, what more can there be?” Phryne practically wailed.

“They have a video. Of you talking on the phone.” Jack paused, and looked at Phryne. It had perhaps been unfair to hope that she would have connected all the dots. “You’re in Green Park. And they’ve had lip-readers watch it. And, because of what you’re saying, they think you’re talking to Prince Harry. And I’m about the only person in the world, other than you, who knows that you’re not.” Jack paused and tentatively reached for Phryne’s hand, wrapping her fingers in his, “And when I realised that it was, in fact, me, on the other end of the conversation, I paused it straight away. But from what I gather Jane has watched the whole thing. As have some two million other people, the last time I checked.”

Jack fell silent as Phryne processed the information. She looked exhausted, as she had said she would. She also looked absolutely stunning. She was wearing black jeans, and a slash-necked red top. There was less make-up than she usually wore, and the stilettos that would wound a man had been swapped for square heeled boots.

“Have Harry’s people said anything?” Phryne asked, quietly. She was in shock. This was awful. And her bloody father. How could he have said that? There would be words. Once she had managed to charge her phone. And figured out the time difference. And worked out exactly what she would say to him.

“They are releasing variants on ‘no comment’, mostly” Jack replied. He took a deep breath; this was to be the tricky bit. “Now, we all spoke last night, and Jane is being taken to school by Collins today. Mac would have offered but she’s on nights. Now, if you want to Phryne, you can just walk out through the Arrivals Hall, and go home to St Kilda, and walk past them all into the front of your house. But Mr Butler tells us that they’ve been ringing your landline quite frequently. Or, there is an alternative.”

Phryne was stunned. She never enjoyed trying to walk past baying photographers, and she had rather thought she had left that portion of her life behind. And she knew that once the press knew she was back they would hang around until they got whatever they wanted. Unless something more interesting presented itself. “What’s the alternative?”

“Could I interest you in a somewhat overly convoluted plan?” Jack asked. Phryne raised a weary eyebrow, and Jack launched into a brief yet thorough outline of the stages of the plan and the different options. He was reaching the last part, when the flight attendant dragged open the curtain.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” said Phryne, standing up slowly.

“I believe it is. I would offer to carry your bag for you, but I was given a very firm lecture on why doing so would lead to my arrest, our detention and your passport being marked with a ‘flag’. I’m not sure what that is, but I don’t want to find out.” Jack smiled as Phryne wrestled with the contents of her overhead locker. She donned a jacket, and placed her handbag into the crook of her elbow. She extracted a carrier bag which proclaimed itself to be from Heathrow Duty Free from the locker, and finally retrieved the overly large hat which Jack recognised from the wedding day photos. He raised an eyebrow.

“Not enough room in the luggage; didn’t want to leave it behind and this way it didn’t break any rules about baggage allowances,” explained Phryne, with a shrug, as she rammed the hat onto her head.

Jack stood up, sweeping his hand towards the exit. They emerged onto the slightly worn carpet of the boarding gangway. Phryne blinked. Ahead of her was a policeman, wearing body armour and carrying an exceptionally large gun. The policeman acknowledged Jack, “Inspector Robinson,” he said.

“Sergeant,” replied Jack, placing his hat back on his head. Phryne tried not to stare. The hat really finished off the ensemble magnificently. Phryne was wondered what it would take for Jack to be persuaded to wear this uniform some other time.

“Miss Fisher, this is Senior Sergeant David Evans, who is based here at the Airport Police Station. Dave, this is Phryne. She’s the reason why I needed your invaluable assistance.” Jack smiled as he made the introductions.

Phryne’s over-tired brain struggled to process it all. They walked silently down the gangway, turning into the wider corridor which led to Customs and the Arrival Hall.

“What are we going for?” Dave asked.

“Overly convoluted plan.” Jack confirmed.

“OK. Miss Fisher, here’s what’s going to happen. Jack and I are going to walk you as far as we can. You have to go through Customs, Baggage Reclaim and Quarantine on your own, we can’t come with you I’m afraid. I can be on the other side of Quarantine to get you through Arrivals, if they harass you. If they just take your picture, again, I’m afraid, there isn’t much I can do.” Dave turned and addressed Jack, “are the taxi guys in place?”

“Yes,” confirmed Jack, “Phryne, Bert will help you with your luggage, then we have a very short window of time to swap you into my car before the press can get out of the multi-storey car park. All right?”

“Erm, yes. Sorry, do you two know each other?” Phryne was having difficulty following exactly what was going on but had realised from the way in which Jack and the other officer were speaking to each other that there appeared to be more to their relationship than merely Force colleagues.

“Fellow Abbotsford supporter,” said Jack, deciding that was all the explanation needed at this point.

They paused; they were close to the entrance to the restricted area. Dave spoke first, “Well, this is us. I’ll see you on the other side Miss Fisher. Jack will see you shortly after that.” He took a step back and nodded. Jack stepped forward, moving closer to Phryne.

“I just wanted to say that we’re all here for you, and we’ll do whatever you want. We just want to try to protect you,” he hesitated and looked around. Dave found he was suddenly fascinated by a Customs poster on the wall. Jack turned back to look at Phryne, “and welcome home Phryne, it’s really lovely to see you.” Jack tentatively reached out an arm and placed it carefully on Phryne’s waist. He bent down and kissed Phryne lightly on the cheek. He tried not to think about how warm her skin was.

Phryne blinked, and smiled briefly. “This isn’t how I’d imagined our first conversation,” she whispered, somewhat sheepishly.

“Nor me, but when did anyone’s life ever go to plan?” Jack shrugged his shoulders as he spoke.

“Very true Jack. I’ll see you in a little while. And thank you,” she added.

Jack took a step back and cleared his throat. Dave returned to them and watched as Phryne walked into Customs. He showed Jack back through the corridors of the Terminal building. The two officers watched for a few minutes as the press photographers became excited every time the doors from Quarantine opened; only to have their hopes dashed as Phryne failed to emerge. Jack bade Dave farewell, and confirmed that he owed him several beers the next time they were at The G. Jack made his way back to the Police Compound, tipping his cap and nodding at Bert in his waiting mini-bus taxi as he walked past him. Bert nodded in response and fired up the taxi radio to speak to Cec at the office.

 

Some Forty-five minutes later, The Honourable Phryne Fisher waltzed out of the quarantine area looking effortlessly composed. She had changed her boots for the usual stilettos, applied some make-up and styled her hair. She had also donned a pair of sunglasses and wrapped a silk scarf around her neck. She pulled her biggest case behind her, the Duty Free bag having disappeared. Her handbag still rested in the crook of her elbow and the overly large hat was held in her unoccupied hand.

The bank of photographers went into a frenzy, shouting and calling out as Phryne made her way to Arrival Drive and the taxi rank. She ignored all of the many questions which were shouted at her, choosing instead to smile slightly but remain silent. She caught the eye of ‘Dave’, who was watching the whole scene in bemusement. He tipped his head towards the sliding doors and Phryne gave a barely perceptible nod of her head in acknowledgement.

Bert had clocked the commotion in his rear view mirror and leapt from the driver’s side of the cab to greet Phryne. “All right Miss. You been causin’ a commotion?” he drawled, manhandling the case into the vehicle. Phryne settled herself in the front passenger seats.

“A little local difficulty Bert” replied Phryne, shrugging her shoulders, “terribly interesting welcoming party. Best not to loiter I think?” she added, as the photographers tried to take pictures through the window of the cab. Dave appeared from the rear of the throng and ushered the eager group away from the taxi rank.

“Yeah, well this bit has to be carefully timed,” Bert snarled with a grimace. “And we’ll need to borrow that hat o’yours too,” he sniffed.

From the back seat, a voice piped up, “The Inspector says he’s ready, Bert.”

Phryne moved to look behind her at the disembodied voice. Bert grabbed her arm, stopping her.

“Don’t turn round please Miss, them vultures are still looking.” Bert cautioned.

Bert flicked the ignition, firing the engine of the cab into life. He pulled out and began to accelerate. He checked his mirrors. The photographers had turned away and appeared to be running back towards the terminal building.

“If I were you Miss, I’d be prepared to move sharpish. You ready Alice?” he shouted towards the rear seat, “You can come out now.”

Alice emerged from under a blanket. Phryne looked agog. Alice moved forwards and scrambled over the seat, shoving Phryne towards the passenger door as she did. Phryne removed her stilettos and balanced them on the ends of her fingers.

“I will need your hat please Miss Fisher. Dot says I can carry off impersonating you if I have enough ‘attitude’. But the hat won’t hurt.” Alice smiled.

Phryne handed over her hat, “please be careful with it.”

“Of course Miss. Oh, and Jane sends her love. She was still asleep when Bert came to collect me, but she was terribly anxious last night.” Alice smiled towards Phryne, fiddling with the hat as she looked at herself in the rear view mirror. They had arrived at the BP petrol station.

“Here we go. No time for small talk, Miss. You need to get going.” Bert pulled up under the cover of the canopy, applied the handbrake and jumped out of the cab, moving to the passenger side.

A car which Phryne recognised as Jack’s BMW pulled up on the other side of the petrol pump. The two drivers had managed to cleverly arrange themselves so that their respective passenger doors opened closest to the other’s vehicle. Jack scrambled from his car, and the two men glanced around the forecourt before they both opened their passenger doors. Bert helped Phryne from the larger vehicle. She was clutching her shoes and handbag.

“Best to keep your head down Miss, just in case” Bert smiled as he spoke. Phryne scrambled for Jack’s car, flashing him a nervous smile as she did. The two men shut their doors, nodded towards each other and got back into their vehicles. Jack had put his hat on the dashboard, and before he had even settled himself in his car, Phryne had scooped it up and was adjusting it jauntily on her head.

Phryne remained quiet as Jack pulled away from the petrol pumps, and they were quickly on the Tullamarine Freeway heading for the city. The roads were very quiet. Phryne suddenly felt her attempts to avoid jetlag deserting her. Phryne was dazed. The customs queue had been mercifully polite, and she had used her Australian Passport to hasten matters. The clerk at passport control had read her name and raised an eyebrow. From this Phryne had deduced that news of her alleged involvement with Harry was indeed public knowledge. She was slightly stunned that Jack had managed to find his way onto her plane, and that he appeared to be handling the entire situation calmly. She was very thankful that she had explained to him that the British papers tended to report sensation first before checking facts later. She was trying to recall what she had said to Jack in Green Park that could have led anyone to conclude that she was talking to Harry.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Not quite Six Thirty,” replied Jack.

“Eugh,” exclaimed Phryne. “What time have you all been up since?”

“Well personally, four am. I can’t speak for anyone else. And, just so you’re fully in the picture, I have to go to work after I’ve got you to, well, wherever you want me to take you.”

“The last part of the plan? I think that flight attendant could have given us a few more minutes. Oh Jack. You didn’t have to do this,” said Phryne as she worked her feet back into her shoes.

“It was fine. And anyway, I did say that I wished I could have met you at the airport.” Jack tried not to consider the fact that what he had really wanted was to scoop her into his arms and kiss her the way he had wanted to for at least the last six months.

“I’m fairly sure you didn’t think it would be like this. Where are you taking me anyway?”

“Well, your choice. Jane thought a hotel perhaps. She mentioned The Windsor?”

“I just want to have a shower. And get some sleep. And as marvellous as The Windsor is, it seems a bit extravagant. And by the time we got there, there would be absolutely zero chance of sneaking in unobserved.”

“Or, well,” Jack took a very deep breath. “There’s the option of my flat. The car park is underneath, and you access it from the back of the building, so there isn’t much chance of you being seen. And it’s very quiet during the day, because everyone works. And there’s an entry system.” Jack considered that this part of the idea, which he had not shared with the others, was possibly a monumentally bad way to try to preserve his sanity.

“Well the views did sound lovely.” Phryne tentatively smiled.

“I may have oversold it. It’s really, very tiny.” Jack hated that he sounded apologetic.

“How is the shower?”

“Oh, excellent.” Jack tried to maintain his focus on the traffic.

“And the bedrooms?”

“One bedroom. Mine. But with the largest size bed IKEA sell.” Jack swallowed deeply. He had really not thought this through.

Phryne considered the possibility. She was very interested in exploring more of Jack’s life. She was even more interested in an excellent shower and a large bed. Phryne rather imagined that the Swedes made very large beds. And it came with the distinct advantage of no checking in, no press and no need to have a conversation with anyone else. “To yours then Jack. I will deal with everyone and everything else later. Please god tell me you have coffee.”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh good.” Phryne pulled Jack’s hat down over her face and visibly relaxed.

 

 


	26. Tuesday 3rd May - Hoddle Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phryne makes a preliminary investigation of Jack's flat.

Jack turned his car towards Coburg, leaving the Freeway. The roads through the suburbs were still relatively quiet as they passed through Northcote and Abbotsford and it was after a little over twenty minutes that Jack turned off Hoddle Street itself and carefully manoeuvred through the network of small side streets that led to the entrance to the parking for his flat, which was located in the ground floor of the former laundry. The swing into the back of the building was tricky; the final street somewhat narrow, and Jack was thankful that it was so early that there was no-one trying to drive towards him.

It occurred to him to wonder whether any of his neighbours read the ‘celebrity’ pages and therefore might know who Phryne was. He thought probably not, and he turned his attention to mentally reviewing the state of his flat, trying to recall how tidy it was. He was suddenly thankful that he had been there so little for the last few days, meaning he had not had the opportunity to make much mess.

He pulled into his allocated parking space and turned off the engine. Phryne stirred, and Jack wondered whether she had been asleep.

“Phryne? We’re here.” Jack looked at her with concern. Phryne pushed Jack’s hat back and turned towards him.

“Oh, I appear to have missed most of the journey. Sorry Jack.”

“It’s fine. I imagine you must be very tired.”

Phryne nodded in confirmation. Jack opened his door and got out of the car. He walked around to the passenger side and assisted Phryne, taking her bag from her. He offered his arm and Phryne smiled.

“How very chivalrous Jack. Is it the uniform perhaps?”

“Maybe I’m just polite?”

“Maybe you are. Stairs or a lift?”

“Stairs. I’m only one floor up,” said Jack, leading the way.

  
  


 

Jack took a deep breath as he slid the key to his front door into the lock and carefully turned the key. He stood to one side to allow Phryne to enter before him. He stepped through the door after her and shut the door behind them.

Phryne’s sense of curiosity immediately won the fight against her jet-lag induced tiredness. She peered around the space. It was, as Jack had said, quite small, but after all, it was only him who lived here.

As she shucked off her shoes she noticed that on the wall immediately in front of her was a large picture. She tipped her head slightly to one side and considered the subject. It was an action shot, a cyclist obviously mid-race, looking behind him. Phryne wasn’t sure how old the picture was, but it was unmistakably Jack.

“This is you?” she said, looking towards Jack, requesting confirmation more than anything else.

“Yes,” said Jack, with a tone of slight defensiveness in his reply.

“How old is this picture?”

“About, fifteen years. I was still at University.” Jack replied, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

Phryne heard the prickle and turned her back to him, looking at the picture. She furrowed her brow and wondered why he was defensive about this. A thought occurred. “How long have you lived here?”

“About two years. I moved in after Rosie and I…” he hesitated.

“Ah,” murmured Phryne, “and would I be correct in thinking that this was not on the wall at your previous house?”

“Apparently, it could be considered to be a tad narcissistic,” said Jack, maintaining his stance.

Phryne turned to look at Jack once more, “if that is ‘a tad narcissistic’, then I dread to think what any opinion of the art on the wall of my boudoir would be.”

“You have art on the wall of your, boudoir?” Jack struggled to believe that anyone called their bedroom that.

“I do Jack.” Phryne smouldered, noting that Jack appeared to be swallowing repeatedly.

“Of yourself?”

“Indeed. And very much more indulgent than this.” Phryne leant against the wall across from Jack and crossed her arms in a mirror of Jack’s stance.

“When you say more indulgent…” Jack wondered aloud.

“Well, considerably less clothed.” Phryne smirked.

Jack blinked several times. “Well I don’t know much about art…”

“But you know what you like?”

Jack coughed, nervously, and smiled a thin smile. “Hmm” was all that emerged. Jack pushed himself off from the wall and moved through to the kitchen, flicking the switch on the kettle to boil some water.

Jack moved further into the room, placing Phryne’s bag on the dining table. He wondered what on earth she could have in it to make it so heavy but he had learnt long ago never to ask too many questions about the contents of a lady’s handbag. He turned to Phryne, who was still wearing his hat. She was still smiling at him as he moved over to where she stood. He tried not to think about how adorable she looked. He tried not to allow himself to think too much at all about the fact of Phryne being in his flat, and the two of them being utterly alone.

“I’m afraid I will need my hat back.” Jack murmured in a low tone.

“Am I breaking a terrible number of Police Force rules?” Phryne asked, in a tone which was less teasing than she had been aiming for.

“A terrible number, Phryne. But I would expect nothing less from you.” Jack tried to make the statement sound upbeat, but suddenly everything felt very serious. Phryne swept the hat from her head and handed it back to Jack with a smile, placing it on his head.

She moved past him to investigate the rest of the flat. There was a large sofa set across the middle of the living space, facing a very large flat-screen TV mounted on a wall which, Phryne could see, divided the living space from the bedroom. In front of the sofa there was a low table with a laptop and a PlayStation controller and a number of remote controls tidily arranged on it. There was a small stack of papers also on the table; the top one was some sort of cycling magazine. A rug had been very carefully arranged to run from underneath the coffee table to underneath the sofa.

There was a modest dining table with two chairs, and a galley kitchen in which no item was out of place. A small selection of cookbooks looked as if they actually saw some use. A wok plainly called the left-hand back ring of the hob ‘home’. The fridge was surprisingly large.

She scanned her gaze around the room; there were low bookcases arranged along the far wall, over-stuffed with books. A small trophy had been placed on top of one of the bookcases and Phryne smiled; this she presumed was the prize from the cycling race Jack had won. Above the bookcases was another picture, this one much older than the one of Jack. The colour was muted, faded with time. “This is Abbotsford?” asked Phryne.

“Yes, the last time we won the Premiership,” said Jack, taking his hat off and placing it on the dining table next to Phryne’s handbag.

“Which would be why it looks so old.” teased Phryne.

“You’re supposed to be a lapsed ‘Pie’, Phryne,” said Jack, leaning back against the kitchen worktop.

“I’m lapsed Jack, not dead. If you can’t take a little ribbing, you really should find a team with a better chance of winning something.”

“That’s not how it works Phryne. It’s about staying true to your team, even when everything’s going wrong.”

“An admirable stance Jack.”

“And besides, I rather thought you were developing an interest in Abbotsford.”

“Fledgling, Jack. I’ll have to see how it goes.” She smiled again and carried on her exploration. There was a set of glass doors in one wall and Phryne moved over to look through them.

“It’s a patio,” said Jack, with some redundancy.

Phryne smiled and looked upwards; the patio was open to the sky. There was a barbecue, and a small table with two chairs. There was a further set of sliding doors on the far side of the space. Phryne looked behind her; Jack’s bike was hanging sideways from a rack on the wall. She spotted a further doorway and guessed that it must lead to the bathroom. Becoming aware that Jack was standing nervously, she turned to him with a smile.

“It’s a lovely flat Jack.”

“Thank you,” said Jack, and he turned his attention to making coffee. Moving back across the room he dug around in the cupboards; he wasn’t sure he had ever seen Phryne drink from a mug, but it was all he had. He rooted in a cupboard under the counter for a cafetière, and heaped a generous helping of ground beans into it. He didn’t usually bother with such extravagances for himself, but Phryne had very high standards in coffee; the frequent cups he had enjoyed at her house bore testament to that fact. The kettle finally boiled and Jack poured the water into the glass container. He fished down an extra mug for himself, he suspected today was going to require a lot of caffeine to get through it.

Phryne flopped down on the sofa and curled her legs under her. Jack brought the coffee over on a tray, placed it on the table and sat down next to Phryne on the sofa. He slowly unfastened the buttons on his jacket. Phryne picked up one of the mugs and rested it on her knee, cradling the handle gently. She glanced at the laptop and bit her lip nervously. Silence fell between them.

“I suppose I should get it over with. Fire up the laptop Jack, let’s see what the gentlemen of the press have been saying.” Phryne took a sip of her coffee.

Jack reached over, opened the laptop and pressed the button to turn it on. They both sat quietly while it went through its boot cycle. Jack brought up The Daily Mail website and browsed through to the section about the Royal Wedding. Phryne leaned forward and read quickly through the various stories. She grimaced when she read the statement from her father. That man’s determination to marry her off was reaching desperation levels.

“You know, all the best to Catherine, and her and William looked so happy on Friday, and they have managed to live together already, which is a miracle, but there is nothing on this earth that could persuade me to marry into the Royal Family.” Phryne said when she’d read the articles.

“Really?”

“Jack, look at this,” Phryne indicated the laptop screen. “And this,” she said, waving a hand around to indicate Jack’s flat. “I am hiding in your flat because the press want to take my picture and write about me. I imagine that there will be pictures of me walking through Arrivals on this website, and the others, before you’ve managed to get to work. My father is releasing statements, Clarence House are having to say ‘no comment’, and they’ve dug through my Twitter feed. Because they have one, rashly misinterpreted photograph of me and Harry, and a video that is, well, I’m not talking to Harry... You haven’t watched it all?”

“No. I just… I was there, I mean, obviously. I experienced it, from my end; I don’t really need to watch you at your end. I can’t believe they got people to lip-read what you were saying.”

“Not the first time.”

“For you?”

“For me, yes. Not the first time they’ve employed lip readers. And they hack people’s mobile phone voice-mails.”

“Why?”

“Stories. Gossip. Sales. Because they can. They destroy people Jack, with no thought as to the consequences. To sell papers. And William and Kate and Harry and the rest of them have to live with that every day. And if you marry in you have to learn to live with it. And I’ve become rather fond of hiding under the radar. And I’m not interested in being involved with Harry.” Phryne took Jack’s hand in hers and ran her fingers across his palm in gentle circles.

“It’s none of my business Phryne, but the photograph?” Jack tried to remain calm as he felt the heat from Phryne’s fingers.

“It’s from The Goring. Very early Saturday morning, as they said. I rather thought everyone there was aware of the rules, but seemingly not.” Phryne paused, and scrolled the page until she got to the photograph. “Do you recall that I mentioned that a concerned third party had given me some advice?”

“Yes.” Jack swallowed nervously.

“Harry would be the third party.” Phryne said simply.

Jack swallowed again, “I’m sorry? You’ve spoken to Prince Harry about me?”

“Well apparently it was very obvious that I was distracted by someone, and Harry spoke to me about it.”

“Mac spoke to me.” Jack admitted.

“Did she now? And what did she say?” Phryne was very curious.

“That I should do something, about this,” said Jack, waving a hand between them.

“Which is what Harry said to me, after he asked me to show him how you kissed me goodbye.” Phryne explained.

“Oh,” and suddenly Jack realised why the photograph had an air of familiarity about it, “so the quote about the two of you ‘really going for it’ would be complete nonsense then?”

“Complete nonsense, yes.” Phryne drained her coffee, “I should call Jane. If she’s read all this she must be wondering what’s going on. How is she?”

“She’s, being stoic, I think. I did try to explain to her last night that the papers make things up. But obviously I didn’t say anything about us, so she might still think...” Jack wasn’t sure what to say about what Jane might think.

“That I’m making an anguished declaration to Harry.” Phryne groaned in frustration. She stood and moved to her handbag and extracted her phone. “Damn, it’s out of power.” she exclaimed.

Jack fished in his pocket and offered his phone to Phryne. “Use mine.”

“Thank you,” said Phryne. She scrolled to the phone function and found Jane’s number. It was Seven Thirty and the girl would be up by now. The number rang. Jack wandered back to the kitchen and refilled the kettle. He could already feel tiredness creeping in and he needed to be alert for the meeting he had scheduled for the afternoon.

“Jack?” said Jane, as she answered the phone.

“Jane, its Phryne.”

“Oh thank god you’re back. Where are you?”

“Richmond. Jack has been very good. I’ve read all the papers and I wanted to make sure that you knew, Jane, that whatever they might say, and whatever my father might say, I am not going back to Britain anytime soon. And I’m not in any way involved with Prince Harry.”

“Really?”

“Really Jane. He’s nine years younger than me for a start.”

“Phryne, you go out with younger guys all the time. Nine years isn’t that much.”

“Ordinarily I’d talk about your cheek, but I’ll let you off this time.”

“So I’m not going to have the third in line to the throne as some sort of pseudo step-father then? Disappointing.” Phryne could hear the sass down the phone line.

“You’re all right then? Jack said he thought you were concerned?” Phryne knew that Jane hid behind humour to avoid revealing her true feelings. They were very alike in some ways she thought.

“Your dad said you were only coming back for a little bit and then you’d be going back.” Jane sounded concerned now.

“And when I have had some sleep, and it is a reasonable time in the UK, and I have figured out exactly how to suppress my anger enough, I will be having words with him. Jane, I’m not going anywhere. I’m not walking away from you. You are the most important thing in the world to me, and I will always be here for you.”

“OK.” Jane didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“And when the press have found something else to fixate on, which I am sure will be any time now, then I will be able to come home properly, and we can catch up.” Phryne hoped that would be soon, or she might be forced to take matters into her own hands.

“Did you get me something cool from Covent Garden?” Jane was suddenly back to being an excited teenager

“I did. And it’s a surprise. Now, how are you getting to school?”

“Hugh’s taking me. Why aren’t you on your phone?”

“No power.”

“And you’ve lost your chargers.” Phryne could hear the teasing and exasperation in Jane’s tone.

“I’ve lost one of them. The other one is in my hold luggage. Which should be back at St Kilda by now.”

“You must personally be driving Apple’s profits with the number of chargers you’ve had to buy.”

“Can I speak with Dot?”

“I’ll just get her.”

Phryne heard a shuffling sound as the phone was handed over.

“Miss Fisher?” Dot spoke into the phone with suppressed excitement.

“Dot! How are you? Thank you for looking after Jane.”

“It’s no problem, Miss.”

Phryne coughed into the phone.

“Sorry, it’s no problem, Phryne,” repeated Dot. She was always nervous about calling her boss by her first name, it felt disrespectful somehow, but Miss Fisher was not a typical boss, for which Dot was grateful.

“Well thank you again. Now, have you had many calls from the press?” Phryne needed to assess how drastically she would have to act.

“Not yesterday, no. There has been a steady number over the last week, nothing too bad. But I suspect we may have quite a few today, given the video.”

“It’s not what it looks like Dot.” Phryne sighed in exasperation.

“I know Miss, Phryne. But it’s just, if we took that in the course of one of our cases, it would look quite bad.” Dot wasn’t sure what was going on with Phryne’s personal life, but she knew how to construct a compelling argument, and the press footage was certainly compelling.

“I haven’t actually watched it yet Dot.” Phryne explained. Jack plainly did not want to watch the video and Phryne felt it was not a point to push him on.

“Oh,” said Dot, surprised.

“I will make sure that I do later though. For the meantime, just please continue to say ‘no comment’, and if you can make a note of which papers call you, in case I decide I have to make a complaint.”

“Yes Miss, Phryne. Are you going to sleep now?”

“I’m going to try and stay up for a little bit, I think, attempt to adjust my body clock back to something approaching normal, but I think I probably will sleep, yes. Let’s hope this has all died down by tonight.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“And thank Hugh for me, for everything he’s doing.”

“I will do. Jane’s making signals at me, I’ll hand you back to her.”

“Thank you Dot.”

There was more shuffling and the phone was handed back.

“Phryne, is everything going to be OK?” Jane asked, quietly.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Jane. Now, have a good day at school, and if anyone asks you about this, you just have to say ‘no comment’ and walk away, do you understand?”

“Yes Phryne. I’m glad you’re back.”

“So am I. Now, is it Double Mandarin today?”

“It is!” Phryne could hear the excitement over the phone line.

“Well you don’t want to be late for that. Tell Mrs Lin I said Hello, and I’ll see you later. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye Phryne.”

“Goodbye,” and with that, Phryne hung up the phone, standing from the sofa, and offered it back to Jack, who had dealt with a top up of the cafetière whilst Phryne had been on the phone.

“You are so good with her.” Jack had no idea how Phryne managed to recall any aspect of Jane’s timetable in her sleep deprived state.

Phryne shrugged, “I’m doing what I can.”

“She really appreciated the video of Joss Stone.”

“That’s good. She and Helen were big fans.”

“Mac said.”

“You and Mac really do seem to have talked about quite a lot.” Phryne was quite pleased that Mac and Jack appeared to be getting on quite well. If her and Jack were to be something, it would be good if everyone liked each other.

“Well, it was a long evening. And there were a dozen teenagers in your lounge. We had to stick together, or they’d have sensed our weakness and picked us off one by one.” Jack grinned. “You seem very calm about all of this, Phryne.”

“Do I?”

“You do.” Jack was concerned.

“I’ve learnt that you have to treat it like water off a duck’s back. If they see that you’re angry: that they’ve got to you; that they have any hint of control, then they won’t stop. So you brush it off, and hope that they move on to somebody else. I rather thought that Melbourne was safe from this kind of intrusion. Seemingly not.”

Phryne paused and moved over to lean against the dining table, facing Jack, who was still leaning against the kitchen worktop.  

“But Mac said you should do something about this?” asked Phryne, gesturing between them. She had decided that the time had come to force the issue of ‘them’ which Jack was tip-toeing around. If they were going to see if they could be something, then she was resolved that she damned well needed to know how he kissed when he wasn’t drunk, they weren’t doing it to distract a suspect and she wasn’t about to travel to the other side of the world.

“She did. As did, erm…?” it was half a question.

“Harry? Yes. And I do believe that you said on Saturday that if we were on the same side of the planet, that you’d kiss me.”

They were stood, facing each other, and each of them was aware of a look approaching terror that the other was now trying to hide.

“Yes,” said Jack, looking as if he was being led to his death.

“Well then. And ‘properly’ I think you said,” said Phryne, with a lot more restraint than she was feeling.

Jack said nothing; he found he was incapable of speech. He merely nodded slowly as he swallowed and took a step closer to Phryne. It was a remarkably long time since he had done this with any degree of serious intention. Her lack of shoes meant that she was considerably shorter than him, and Jack carefully wrapped an arm around Phryne’s waist, drawing her to him, moving his other hand up to cup her chin lightly. He flicked his eyes between her eyes and her mouth as they both subconsciously licked their lips. Phryne concentrated on regulating her breathing, which was threatening to betray her.

“Well then,” Jack said in a whisper, as he dipped his head the small distance and pressed his lips to hers. Phryne wrapped her arm around Jack’s waist and onto his back, feeling the smooth material of his jacket beneath her fingers. She raised herself to her tiptoes as she slid her other hand up to his shoulder as he moved the hand which had been holding her chin down to her hip. Jack carefully deepened the kiss, as Phryne herself responded with caution. Jack really was an excellent, if somewhat restrained kisser, it turned out, but Phryne did not want to scare him by taking things too fast.

Jack felt his heart beating faster. He had wanted to kiss Phryne properly for so long, and to do so now was astounding. He could not quite believe it. He could not quite allow himself to entirely relax. But she was so soft and warm and she had wrapped herself around him with so little hesitancy. A part of him never wanted this moment to end and cursed the fact that he had not decided to book a last minute day of leave. A further part of him was somewhat grateful that going to work would put some physical distance between them. Jack felt Phryne lean into him and reluctantly loosened his grip, bringing the kiss back to something more chaste.

Phryne felt Jack pulling away and opened the eyes she barely recollected closing. She loosened her grip on his back and allowed Jack to break the kiss. Jack smiled, and Phryne took a deep breath in as she took a small step back.

“Right, definitely back on solid ground.” She took another breath, “and, I need a shower. And then I expect I will pass out with exhaustion. Bathroom back there?” Phryne indicated over her shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Towels?”

“There’s some on a set of shelves, near the shower. Erm, just wait there a minute.” Jack said, raising his hands slightly to implore her to stay where she was. He turned and moved quickly to his bedroom and grabbed his dressing gown from the end of the bed. He moved back into the main space and thrust the garment towards Phryne. “You’ll probably want this.”

“Thank you.” Phryne turned and moved toward the bathroom. She took a step before pivoting back to face Jack. She blew him a kiss, and winked at him before turning with a smoulder on her lips and sashaying off to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Jack stood frozen to the spot in the middle of his lounge. He wondered quite how Phryne managed to change the mood quite so easily. He wondered whether she had liked the kiss; he certainly had, for all his hesitancy. He heard the water in the shower begin to run and tried to think of anything in the world other than the fact of Phryne being naked in his bathroom. He glanced at his watch; it was a little before Eight am.

Jack moved through to the bedroom to slowly change from his dress uniform into a regular suit. He had got as far as donning his waistcoat when he glanced over to the bed. He straightened the bedding and was just plumping the last pillow when he heard the water in the shower stop running. He grabbed his tie and jacket and moved to the main living space, placing the items on the dining table near to Phryne’s handbag.

He heard the bathroom door open. Phryne who was wearing his dressing gown and had her hair wrapped in a towel padded gently over towards the dining table and rooted in her handbag.

“You’ve changed,” she observed, and Jack thought he could hear slight disappointment in her voice.

“Work. Sorry.” He said, shrugging his shoulders and burying his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

“Its fine, Jack. What would you be planning on doing if you didn’t have to work; sitting and watching me sleep?”

“I’d sit in here and make sure you were OK.” Jack said with a small smile. He tidied up the coffee mugs and placed them in the sink. When he turned round Phryne had disappeared. He looked confused and then heard her call to him from the bedroom, “Jack. Do you have a T-shirt I could borrow?”

She was torturing him, he was convinced of it. “Erm, yes, I’ll just, erm. Are you decent?”

“Oh Jack, I’ve not been decent for years. But I’m not presenting an affront to your modesty, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Jack swallowed and decided to pull himself together. He moved into the bedroom, opened a chest of drawers and plucked out the first large T-shirt he found. He handed it to Phryne, who was wearing his dressing gown and had her hair wrapped in a towel. She stood in his bedroom; a small pile of what he was resolutely trying not to notice was her underwear was on his bed.

“Now Jack, I strongly suggest that unless you do want to have your modesty seriously affronted, you give me a few moments.” She smiled at him.

Jack took the hint and hurried back to the kitchen. There were some muffled sounds from the bedroom and Phryne emerged a few minutes later, rubbing the towel through her hair which was now hanging loosely. She was wearing the dressing gown still, although Jack could see the dark colour of his T-Shirt underneath it. She moved back to the bathroom and then returned, and Jack realised she had been hanging the towels up to dry. The domesticity of the action made him strangely wistful.

“What time do you start work?” Phryne asked, accepting the re-filled mug of coffee he offered.

“Officially, Nine. But I’m usually in early.”

“And you stay late?”

“Well there’s not normally a fugitive from the press hiding in my flat.” Jack smiled, attempting humour.

“I’d hope not Jack; I know you’re a stickler for the rules.”

“Phryne,” he said with exasperation.

“I’m just teasing you Jack,” said Phryne, leaning against the kitchen worktop next to Jack.

“Your phone’s out of power?” he asked, turning his head to look at her.

“Yes.”

“And you don’t have a charger?”

“No.”

“OK. I’m going to leave you my phone. My work number is on there, and I’ll give you a card as well, just in case.” Jack fished the phone from his pocket, and reached into a drawer, retrieving a business card from the small stack he kept at home. He noted that his spare keys were also in the drawer and he fished those out too. “My front door, patio doors and front door to the building,” he said, reeling them off as he went through the bunch. Phryne took everything from him and moved over to the dining table placing all the items carefully on it. She picked up Jack’s jacket and tie and turned back to face him.

“So you have to leave in a minute?” she asked, handing him his jacket, which he slid on.

“I do,” he said, suddenly nervous again, Phryne was looking at him with one of those slightly hungry looks that Jack had observed from her over the last few months.

“Good tie,” said Phryne, approaching Jack. She knocked her hip against his thigh, encouraging him to adjust his stance, and positioning herself between his legs. She reached up and opened up the collar of his shirt, arranging the length of silk material around Jack’s neck.

Phryne fiddled with the ends, trying to get the proportions right. She flicked the broader end around, wrapping it over the shorter. She manipulated the material, fixing the shape of the knot, before tugging it gently into position. She folded the collar down, neatening it into place.

“There you go,” she said, patting the front of his waistcoat.

Phryne looked up at Jack, who tentatively placed his hand on her waist.

“So what’s on your schedule for today?” she asked, speaking quietly and leaving her hands where they were, moving them nervously.

“Paperwork, mostly. Assuming we don’t have a body drop.” Jack hoped that the statistics were on his side, and that they were due a few quiet days.

“Well, the murderers of Melbourne have to take a break at some point, don’t they?” Phryne was feeling reluctant to see Jack leave, which was causing her to feel somewhat disconcerted.

“I very much hope so; it’s been a long few days. Not enough sleep.” Jack was currently staying awake with the mix of caffeine and adrenaline. He wondered how long the combination could sustain him.

“Jack,” said Phryne, “you didn’t have to do this.”

Jack decided it was time to let Phryne know that his motives had been motivated by slightly more than just helping a friend. He took a deep breath and spoke. “But I wanted to, Phryne. I wanted to see you. And I didn’t want to wait any longer. And if I could have met you in the middle of Arrivals and swept you into my arms, and kissed you there and then, I would have done. But I’m not quite that brave.” He rubbed his thumb in small swirls as it rested on her waist.

“You pulled rank and got your friend to smuggle you onto my plane. I think that’s fairly brave Jack. And I think the kiss just now was quite good.”

“OK, well good,” said Jack, swallowing once more.

“Good,” said Phryne, as she moved closer to him, sliding a hand up towards his collar. She pulled his head gently towards her, and pressed her lips gently to his. She hummed as she pulled away. “Now, have a good day at work. Dear.” she added with a wink and stepped back.

“OK. Help yourself to, well, anything. Bye,” Jack said, stepping forward and pressing a further kiss to her cheek. He swept his car keys into his hand and walked out of the door, projecting more calmness than he felt. His morning so far had felt entirely surreal.


	27. Tuesday 3rd May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's had to go to work, Phryne's got some time on her hands...

“Good morning Sir” Collins smiled at Jack, whilst wisely offering a mug of coffee.

 

“Collins. I take it Miss Ross got to school safely?” Jack smiled as he gratefully accepted his third cup of the morning.

 

“Yes Sir”

 

“And Miss Williams to work?” Jack took a sip from the mug. The station coffee was generally terrible, but after several very long days and a very early morning, Jack just wanted to survive the day, go home, and try, finally, to get an early night.

 

“Yes Sir.”

 

“Very good Collins. Now, we have to go over all of the reports for the Andrews case. Sergeant Salmond from Prosecutions is coming over this afternoon to check there’s nothing we’ve missed, and he’s an absolute stickler for everything being correct.”

 

“Before we start Sir, Dottie sent this” said Collins, holding out a small padded envelope. “It’s for Miss Fisher, Sir. Dottie suggested Sir, that you knew where she was. And Dottie said that Miss Fisher had probably lost all of hers.”

 

“What would make her think that?”

 

“Well Miss Fisher has posted to Facebook, Sir.” said Hugh, nervously.

 

“She has?” Jack automatically reached for his phone, and grimaced slightly. “I don’t have my own phone with me right now. Can you show me?” Jack needed to know what Phryne might have told the internet in her state of tiredness and anger.

 

Hugh fiddled with his phone nervously, “Sir, isn’t this a breach…?”

 

“Of the rules? Absolutely. But I am your superior officer, so it’ll be me that gets the grief from HR. If they find out. Now, show me what she’s typed, just in case I have to stop someone arresting her for, well, something.”

 

Jack smiled, which confused Hugh. His boss seemed somewhat jovial this morning. Which was a mood he had not had to try to deal with previously. Hugh found the update and offered his phone to Jack. He read her post carefully:

 

_Home safe. Being looked after. Will deal with everything later. Phone dead. Probably about to go to bed._

 

Jack smiled at the word ‘home’, peeked into the envelope and smiled again; it contained a charger for Phryne’s phone. Jack handed Hugh’s phone back to him, pulled his waistcoat down and brought his mind back to the tasks in hand. “I will ensure that Miss Fisher receives this. Now, we have coffee; let’s check our chain of custody records for every piece of evidence.”

 

 

*******************************************

After Jack had left Phryne topped up her mug of coffee and spent a few more minutes carefully considering the picture of Jack cycling. She moved back to the main living space and used his laptop to make a brief, and hopefully vague post to Facebook. 

Still feeling fairly awake she had gone back through her feed for the last few days, before checking Jane’s profile specifically. There were a lot of photos from the wedding party, and Phryne had looked through all of them, pausing when she got to the ones of Jack and Mac. There was one that Jane had posted which was just Jack. He was looking at the TV in the kitchen and she could see herself in The Abbey on the screen behind him. The look on his face was one of both wistfulness, and obvious longing. How had she failed to realise how he felt? He was somehow so much a part of her life already; he knew Jane and he knew her friends and they all seemed to like him. She was struck by the fact that Jane had plainly involved him when she had realised that things with the press were erupting. As she had sat and contemplated how safe she felt, Phryne realised she wanted to throw out her rule book where Jack was concerned and just see what they might become.

Still feeling surprisingly awake, she decided that ‘help yourself to anything’ included being nosey, but within limits, about the contents of his flat. She had moved around the space slowly, and paid closer attention to the books on the shelves. There had been a mix of classic literature, modern fiction and a lot of non-fiction including what appeared to be some very old, very battered textbooks on various aspects of psychology. The volumes on criminal psychology had looked particularly dog-eared, and Phryne surmised that they must still be referred to frequently.

Sitting on the sofa she had looked at the small pile of magazines on the coffee table. The top one was a recent cycling magazine and Phryne had picked it up to flick through it when her attention had been caught by the next magazine down. She had picked that one up as well and smiled to herself. It was the weekend supplement for The Age, featuring the interview she had given a month or so ago. She had not actually seen the final version, or the chosen photographs before she had left for the wedding. She read through the piece and considered the pictures. She was fairly happy with them, although she wasn’t sure about the one where her toes were dangling over the pool – it felt like it was perhaps too much, but the photographer had seemed to be very happy at the time. Next in the pile were a few back issues of the same cycling magazine, and a fanzine for Abbotsford. She smiled to herself again – men and their football! The bottom of the stack contained a few copies of Police Life, and Phryne had quickly scanned the article in the most recent edition detailing ‘Victoria’s top ten most notorious crimes’. As fascinating as the reporting was, it could not keep Phryne from yawning, and she had carefully re-stacked the magazines and moved through to the bedroom.

She guessed that the side of the bed with a bedside table was the one Jack slept on, and noted that only the pillows on the side closest to it had slight indentations in them. It was curious how much of a routine being married must be, to still be automatically restricting oneself to one side of the bed even so long after the divorce. She had adjusted the pillows, inhaling the scent of Jack from ‘his side’ before star-fishing across the entire mattress. The bed really was very comfortable and Phryne had fallen asleep almost immediately.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Jack opened the front door quietly and peered in. The flat was quiet, and he wondered whether Phryne had left. He saw her handbag on the dining table and released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. She wasn’t in the lounge, and the bathroom door was open. He snuck his head around the entry into the bedroom. Phryne was in bed, asleep. She was sprawled on her back, her mouth hung open, the covers half shoved down her body. She had taken severe liberties with his careful arrangement of the pillows by positioning herself across the middle of the mattress. Jack realised that the T-Shirt he had thrust at her was one of his old Academy ones. It absolutely dwarfed her, but Jack thought it might be one of the best outfits he had ever seen her wearing.

 

Struck suddenly by the fact that it was his bed, and his T-shirt, Jack remembered Mac’s encouragement that Phryne didn’t judge people by their status or wealth or history or background. It dawned on him then that her choice of car or house or clothes didn’t make any difference to the sort of person she was. She  liked him, and she wanted to try and have  something with him. He’d liked her for so long, and spent so much time convincing himself that she could never possibly return those feelings that he had resisted believing her when she had said she did. Standing there now, Jack realised that he needed to stop holding back, and just see where this might lead.

 

He crept out of the room and found her phone, also abandoned on his dining table and plugged it into the charger Collins had passed along that morning. Grabbing a glass from the sink, he filled it with water from the jug in his fridge, then as quietly as he could he rummaged in the kitchen drawer assigned to miscellaneous junk and fished out a pad of paper. He wrote a note for Phryne, checked it, made a small addition, and decided that the handwriting was probably legible before taking the note and the water and placed them gently on his bedside table. With that, Jack turned and crept back out of his own flat.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

When Phryne had woken after a few hours sleep, it had been because of the sound of a door closing. She blinked several times before sitting up slowly. She had noticed that a glass of water had appeared on the bedside table, and a note, which she read:

 

_Phryne,_

 

_Dot sent a charger for your phone. I hope you don’t mind, but I have plugged it into a spare socket in the kitchen._

 

_You look so peaceful sleeping that I didn’t want to wake you._

 

_If you need me, just call._

 

_Jack_

_x_

 

She had smiled, snuggled into the pillows and passed out for another hour. When she had woken up she had got out of the bed, wrapped the duvet around herself and proceeded to the living area. 

Finding the remote control for the TV she had played around until she had found the news channels. Abandoning the duvet on the sofa she had crossed to the kitchen and turned her phone on, leaving it plugged into the wall. After it had woken up and registered the change of network, the phone had spent several minutes vibrating and buzzing as it informed her of missed calls, texts, voicemails and Twitter and Facebook notifications. The Facebook ones she ignored as she had checked her messages on Jack’s laptop earlier. Twitter was mostly DMs from friends, and some public tweets from newspapers, asking for comments. The missed calls were also from friends or again from various London numbers which Phryne suspected were newspapers and other media outlets. There was one number she did not immediately recognise, but an inspired check of Jack’s business card led her to deduce that it was the switchboard at SKR, and therefore Jack and the others trying to contact her when everything had flared up. There were 52 voicemails, and she listened to the first few before deciding that she could not face the remainder. 

She scrolled through her contacts until she found Ray’s number and rang him. The ensuing conversation was short, but reassured Phryne that continuing not to publicly comment was the best option. After her phone had rung seven times in ten minutes; all calls from unknown numbers, Phryne had turned the phone off once more.

Sitting back down on the sofa under the duvet, she had used Jack’s laptop to check the international BBC site and the local newspapers and TV stations. She had opened the Press Complaints Commission site, to consider her options. 

The warmth of the duvet and softness of the sofa had lulled her back to sleep as she had been lying on her side, and she had enjoyed another few hours of rest.


	28. Tuesday 3rd May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our finale...

At just before Six Thirty, Jack carefully opened his door. He toed his shoes off, sliding them neatly against the wall with his foot. 

Phryne was lying on the sofa, and had evidently dragged the doona through from the bedroom with her. She was asleep again, the remote control held loosely in her hand. Jack smiled, he still wasn’t sure what they were to each other, but he felt sure that things were progressing. It felt very strange, coming home to a flat that had someone else there. He had always lived here alone, and he was coming to realise how much he had missed these small points of contact in his daily routine.

The TV was on, Sky News was playing quietly. It seemed that the TV crews were still outside Phryne’s house, as there was a static shot of her house in an inset screen as the current presenter talked through other stories. The scrolling news that ran across the bottom of the screen was mentioning her; there was speculation as to where she might be, and occasionally the inset picture was changing to pictures of Phryne arriving at the airport earlier that morning.

Jack moved to his bedroom, shucked off his suit and hung it up neatly. He dropped the tie on top of the chest of drawers, and threw the shirt into the laundry basket in the bottom of the wardrobe. He was thankful Phryne had left his dressing gown on the bed, and he put it on before he moved back to the lounge. Phryne was still asleep but had shifted her position so that she was curled up on her side, hugging the doona to her.

Jack moved through to the bathroom to take a shower. Some fifteen minutes later he emerged, feeling somewhat revived. He absently rubbed a towel through his hair as he moved back to the bedroom. Phryne snored on the sofa and Jack tried not to laugh. Reaching the bedroom Jack quickly finished drying himself and got dressed, noting that Phryne had drunk most of the water and that the note had vanished.

He moved back to the main space of his flat, Phryne had shifted position once more and he wondered how long she had been asleep for. He moved to the kitchen and rooted in the fridge for some food. Had Phryne eaten anything? A quick scan of the shelves of the fridge and an absolute lack of crockery on the coffee table suggested she probably hadn’t. Jack quietly started to chop some vegetables and once done, sliced open a packet of diced chicken. He glanced over to Phryne; the noise of him cooking was bound to wake her. He turned on the hob and began to cook. He was just adding some final seasoning when he heard Phryne stirring on the sofa behind him.

 

On the edge of consciousness Phryne had heard Jack moving around. She smiled slightly to herself. The parts of the day when she had been awake had been fascinating, and she felt much more ready to tackle what was still to come.

 

As she woke fully, Phryne looked around and saw Jack working away in the kitchen. “Well hello,” she said, as she stretched her arms.

“Good evening. Would you like some food?”

Phryne blinked. “Have you cooked?”

“Yes.”

“You cook?”

“Well, yes. It’s just stir-fry,” said Jack, as he divided the food between two bowls. Phryne stood up from the sofa, shrugging her shoulders to wake herself up. Jack glanced up as Phryne crossed to the dining table and allowed a small smile to cross his face as Phryne sauntered across the room in just his T-shirt. Phryne pulled out one of the chairs.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked. Phryne was pleasantly surprised by this domestic side to Jack.

“It’s all done. Would you like some more water? Or perhaps something else? I have tea, if you’d prefer, or orange juice, or some potentially interesting smoothie?”

“Potentially interesting?”

“I’m not entirely sure of the date on it.” Jack admitted.

“Perhaps best not then. Water is fine. Hydration, and all that.” Phryne smiled as she sat down.

As Jack filled two glasses with water, Phryne allowed herself to peruse him. He was wearing jeans, and an Abbotsford hoodie. It was by far the most casual she had ever seen him in the flesh. And his hair really was glorious. It was thick and lush and slightly wavy and she just wanted to grab him and run her fingers through it to discover how it felt.

“You’ve changed clothes again,” she said as he sat down, handing her some cutlery. “You’re rivalling me in the sartorial department today.”

“Unusual day for me. And I’ve got progressively more casual. You tend to get progressively more smart.” Jack tucked into his food, Phryne followed suit and they talked as they ate.

“And I am pleased to know that you’ve been looking, Jack,” smouldered Phryne, taking a forkful of food. Jack tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Although right now, I think we’re about even,” she added.

Jack raised his eyebrows, “Yes you’re absolutely correct, neither of us is wearing socks.”

Phryne smiled, “This is very good,” she said gesturing towards the food with her fork.

“Thank you.”

“Is this a part of the ‘Jack Robinson Seduction Plan’ then?”

“No. This is some quick food after work” Jack tried not to over-think the word ‘seduction’.

“So you do have a seduction plan then?

Jack tried not to choke on his food. “Wouldn’t that rather be telling? Besides, that makes things sound somewhat, pre-meditated?”

“Really? Because I rather got the impression you’d been _meditating_ on it for some time.” Phryne wondered whether Jack would ever have got around to talking to her if Mac had not encouraged him.

Jack chewed slowly. The woman really was infuriatingly blunt. “I always rather thought you’d turn me down.”

“Why?”

Jack shrugged and considered his answer, “Because I wasn’t sure whether you actually liked me, and even if you did, you’ve told me you only ever want a bit of fun with people you see.”

“And you don’t want fun?”

Jack chewed his food, giving himself a moment. He decided to match Phryne’s bluntness, “I do want fun, Phryne. And fun is great, lovely, wonderful. But I’m a serious bloke. I’m not so rash as to think that people ever go into any, relationship, thinking it’s going to be intently serious, but I also know that I don’t want to be subject to some arbitrary ‘best before’ date that you stamp onto a dalliance.” Jack felt that he may as well be honest, that way she could reject him now if she needed to, and it would not have gone too far.

Phryne pushed a piece of chicken around her bowl and sat back against the chair “Jack, can I be blunt?”

Had she not been blunt so far? “I’d expect nothing less,” he said.

She nodded, and rested her fork against the side of the bowl, “Jack, if all I wanted with you was a quick romp, I could have seduced you at any number of points since your divorce came through. But I’ve always held back, and I haven’t been sure why.”

“And now?”

“Well, it was pointed out to me…”

“By Harry?” Jack was still somewhat overwhelmed by that particular fact.

“By Harry, yes, that you don’t necessarily have to know what something is, you just have to let it exist and figure it out as you go.”

“So, what do we do?” Jack asked, his grip on his fork tightening.

“We, spend time together. Go out. Talk. Try and discover what we both might want, and if what we both might want is what the other might want.”

“I want to be with you,” Jack blurted out, “and I don’t know what I want to call it, or how it might work, or how on earth we deal with my work and your business being what they are, but I want to be with you. But I don’t want to put any pressure on you, and god knows, I am out of practice at this.”

Phryne nodded slightly. “So, we take it slowly then? I want to be with you Jack, and even though it’s you, that fact terrifies me somewhat. But apparently I do ‘serious’ more than I might have thought I did. So, I will promise not to put an arbitrary expiry date on this. And we will see where we go from there. Agreed?” Phryne smiled.

Jack’s mind raced and he nodded his agreement.

“You’re out of practice at this?” Phryne queried, picking up the fork and eating again.

“Dating. Or whatever the cool kids call it these days.” Jack tried to maintain a lightness about his response. He was fairly sure Phryne had ‘dated’ more people this year than he had in his entire life.

“How long has it been since you went on a date then?” Phryne asked casually.

Jack considered, “well, I started dating Rosie when I was twenty, so, about fifteen years?”

“There hasn’t been anyone since?” Phryne asked.

Jack shrugged, “I only found one person I liked enough to consider asking.”

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” said Phryne. She went quiet for a moment whilst she considered just how sedate Jack’s sex life had probably been compared to hers. Maybe he’d been a Casanova before Rosie? From everything she knew of him she suspected it was unlikely. “Were there many girls before Rosie?”

The implication of Phryne’s question was clear, and although he was prepared to confess his relative innocence, he hoped she wouldn’t judge him for it. Jack contemplated exactly how underwhelming his dating history was. “Well, there was Sarah, in High School. And then Jess, in the first two years of Uni. And then, Rosie.”

“Oh. Right,” said Phryne. She reflected that it was not in fact that much of a surprise to her. Three women. Three. She was readjusting her expectations for future behaviour, hoping that he would at least have some level of competence. He had been married. Surely Rosie would never have agreed to marry him if he’d been awful? He kissed well, even if he had seemed to be holding back somewhat this morning. 

“Apparently you do, do ‘serious’?” he asked.

“Sort of. Another time for that one Jack. Still working through it myself,” she smiled as she took another mouthful of food. She had never considered that her relationship with Harry was anything other than a fun, light, occasional bunk-up, but she realised now that she did care for him. And when life had forced her to step up for Jane, she had done so unflinchingly, and had never tried to run from it, even if she had felt utterly clueless at times.

Jack gestured towards the TV where the News was still on quietly. “You seem very relaxed about all of this?”

“I am sorry Jack. But it will all die down, and then we can get our lives back. Speaking of which, could you take me back to mine in a bit? I’ve spoken to Ray, and it seems there’s a sniff of something breaking somewhere else, so some of the cameras have left already. They’re mostly after pictures at this point, because they appear to have finally worked out that I’m not going to make any sort of comment about any of their nonsense.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I can sleep on the sofa if you want to stay here?”

Phryne smiled, a twinkle appearing in her eye. “That’s very lovely of you to offer, Jack, but it isn’t fair to you to deprive you of what I suspect will be a very overdue good night’s sleep. And besides, there was a reason my flight got back this morning.”

“Really?”

Phryne chewed a piece of pepper as she considered how best to continue. “Have you never noticed that I’m not available to you on a Tuesday, or at least, not until exceptionally late at night?”

“I think I’d always just assumed you were doing something.” Jack answered. He’d assumed that she had dates on Tuesdays, or some charity thing, or evening work on a long running case. And as they were merely consultants, and occasional colleagues, and then more latterly friends, he’d never thought to pry.

“Indeed. Tuesday night is Jane’s night.” Jack raised an eyebrow which Phryne interpreted as a lack of understanding, and continued. “On Tuesdays we sit down - Jane and I. And Mac, unless she’s on nights, and sometimes even if she is on nights, and we talk with Jane about her week, and school, and what she’s up to, and anything else that comes up.” If Jack was going to be a part of her life, he needed to know more about the situation with Jane, and it appeared they were at a point of sharing with each other.

“Really? Every week?”

“Every week. At first, it was a good way to tell her what was happening with Helen’s estate, and to answer any questions she had about that.” She saw Jack’s quizzical expression once more, “because Mac and I are Helen’s executors. And it gave some stability in what at that point was a pretty hectic schedule, trying to sort everything out. And, to be honest, it meant that we ate something that wasn’t takeaway food or a very poor attempt at an omelette. Because Mac can cook, but I really can’t, and we were still living at Helen’s house, because it was what Jane wanted at the time, so the Butler’s weren’t in the picture.”

“You were living at Helen’s house?”

“Yes. I was sleeping on the sofa, because it felt too odd to sleep in Helen’s room.”

“And then came St Kilda?”

“And then came St Kilda. I think Jane felt like Helen’s house had too many sad memories, and I think she quite likes the sea views. And I think she might have seen me wincing in pain after one of the springs in the sofa cushion made a bid for freedom. So we moved. But anyway, the upshot is that Tuesday night is Jane’s night, and I‘ve missed the last two, so I wanted to get back as quickly as possible to make sure I didn’t miss a third. So the press can go hang, some things are more important than preserving my privacy.” Phryne sat back and watched Jack take everything in.

“Right. I didn’t realise that you and Mac were in charge of sorting everything out?”

“It was always the three of us. Helen and Mac and I. We both agreed to take care of Jane in a heartbeat. If public opinion was a little different, Mac would be the legal guardian, ahead of me. But somehow the posh bird from the other side of the world with no clue as to what she’s doing is a better choice than the friend who was always here, and who is an _actual_ doctor.” Phryne shook her head in slight puzzlement that things had turned out quite the way they had. It surprised her even now sometimes.

“I think you’re doing alright. I mean, not that I have any clue myself, but she’s polite, and she stands up for people, even to her friends, and she was so worried about you yesterday Phryne.”

“Because of all these stories?” Phryne waved her hand towards the TV, where Sky News was helpfully showing snippets of newspaper headlines around the world with variants of ‘Phryne Fisher and Prince Harry an item!’

“They all think you’re with Harry.” Jack had been trying to stop himself from asking the question that had been concerning him since he had read the story. “Why don’t you just tell them that you’re not, and that it’s not him you’re on the phone with?”

Phryne had been expecting Jack to ask that sooner. “Jack, if I say I’m _not_ with Harry and that it isn’t him I’m talking to in the video, then the next question is what causes the problem.”

“Why? What’s the next question?”

“The next question, Jack, is ‘So, Miss Fisher, exactly who are you talking to on the phone?’ And then they won’t stop until they work out who you are, and what you do and where you live. And you won’t be able to look out of your window for press, and they’ll figure out who your mum is, and who your sisters are and what your brother does, and you’ll get a phone call from your mum asking you why there’s a _terribly nice_ man on her doorstep asking her about her son’s girlfriend having been photographed snogging Prince Harry. And I won’t do that to you Jack. I certainly won’t subject any of your family to that. It’s not fair on you, or them, and it doesn’t give us a fair chance to figure out what we are for ourselves.”

“But I’m no one, why on earth would they do all that?” he said, the word ‘girlfriend’ ringing in the back of his mind.

“Because it sells papers, Jack. And from their point of view, the story would be ‘Baron’s daughter rejects Prince for commoner’. And suddenly we’re a story. And neither of us can so much as pop to the shops without it being in a gossip column somewhere. So let them think I’m having a thing with Harry. It will all die down in a few days.”

“I just can’t comprehend, Phryne, how on earth you are managing to be so calm.”

“It’s a hazard of one aspect of my life. Tomorrow they’ll be screaming that bananas cause cancer, and next Monday they’ll say that bananas cure cancer. And the week after that they’ll probably start running the stories speculating on whether Kate’s already pregnant, or about to be. It’s all nonsense, Jack.”

“I know, but just, how can you be OK with everyone thinking this stuff about you?”

“I’m not OK with it Jack. I’m very far from OK with it. But this will blow over. Someone much more interesting than me will do something much more scandalous than this and then it will be their turn. Which is not the best approach, but it gets me my life back. I mean, other than my father shooting his mouth off in what was actually a very vague way, what do they have?”

“Not a lot.” Jack admitted.

“Nothing that’s truthful. And on that note, I should really make a phone call.” Phryne was not looking forward to the call, but it had to be faced.

“Is it charged?” Jack looked behind him to where Phryne’s iPhone was still plugged in to his wall.

“It should be. I turned it on earlier, when I woke up this afternoon. Missed calls, voicemails, text messages. It was a little overwhelming.” Phryne admitted.

“Have you watched the video?” Jack asked quietly.

“I have. I have to say, I can see how they jumped to the conclusion they did.” Phryne shrugged as Jack looked at her quizzically again, “I only said your name once. And I’d covered my mouth when I did. As I watched, I knew I was saying it, but there’s no way they could make that one out. The subtitles say _‘unknown, presumed to be a farewell’_. Now, I have to make this call, bit of an apology called for. And, there’s a thing here Jack, which is, embarrassing. And I would very much appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to anyone else.”

Jack looked at Phryne in confusion, “You’ll see,” she sighed in exasperation. She moved over to the sofa, taking her phone with her, scrolling through her contacts until she found the name she wanted. She pressed the screen to call the number, raised the phone to her ear and waited.

“Phryne Fisher….. Papa, Hotel, Romeo, Yankee, November, Echo….. yes….”

Jack wasn’t sure who she could be calling. He shouldn’t have been surprised that she knew the phonetic alphabet; he expected that it partially came from having an unusual name. He had stood up to place the bowls in the sink and was allowing his mind to wander when he suddenly heard Phryne speak loudly into her phone in the broadest Australian accent he had ever heard from her,

“G’day mate, Kylie says it’s time to throw another shrimp on the barbie.” Jack looked at Phryne as if she was possessed. She threw a look at him which suggested she could murder someone and rolled her eyes with a thoroughly unimpressed attitude. Her accent jumped straight back to ‘daughter of a Baron’ as she added, “Thank you,” after a short pause.

“You’ve got a new guard dog,” she said into the phone. “I am so dreadfully sorry about this. Are the paps camped outside your gates?”

Jack sat back down with a thump. He was trying not to earwig, but he was thought Phryne was talking to Prince Harry.

“I’ve been avoiding them. I’m hiding out….. Jack’s…… Calm yourself, he’s been at work….. You presume correctly…… we’re going to see how it goes…… thank you. Now, are your people going to carry on saying ‘no comment’? Good. I’ve considered it, during the small parts of today when I’ve actually been awake, and I won’t tell them the truth of it, so I was going to not comment either. And I’ll be having words with my father later…..Yes, exceptionally rude ones…..Do we know who took the photo?....Hmm.”

There was a longer pause as Phryne listened to the response. “Well I’m not happy about it Harry, but if family politics mean we should just not complain…… I understand….. And I’m sorry I never said goodbye, you got swept off and I needed coffee… Harry? It was excellent to see you as always, look after yourself, pop in if you’re passing… Goodbye.” And with that she hung up.

Jack swallowed nervously, “Sorry, was that, erm…?”

“Harry? Yes. Please don’t make fun of the ‘accent’, there’s a whole pass-code system and naturally my distinguishing feature was my Collingwood drawl.”

“Well that is quite, something,” said Jack, still reeling from the entire experience. “Did he just ask if we’re, erm….?”

“He did. You seem fairly relaxed about all of this?”

Jack shrugged his shoulders and leaned forwards. “I had a moment of realisation, earlier today.” He waved a hand in the direction of the TV. “If none of this matters to you, why should I allow it to matter to me? What they’re saying isn’t true, Phryne, I know that. Take the lies away, and the actual wedding and they’ve got pictures of you at events that are just like the ones you attend here. It’s a part of who you are.”

“And you’re OK with who I am?” Phryne asked, with slight hesitation.

“I am.” Jack confirmed.

“This isn’t going to be easy, Jack. Quite apart from all of this, there’s both of us.”

Jack smiled. “Nothing that matters is easy, Phryne.” He paused as the TV showed pictures of Harry from the weekend. “He seems somewhat overly invested in your love life.”

Phryne shrugged again. “So does Mac.”

“It was slightly strange, being given advice by her.” Jack confessed.

“Because she’s a lesbian?”

“No! Because she’s your best friend.”

“She is. Although I am somewhat concerned that she’s trying to hide her girlfriend from me.” Phryne tilted her head in anticipation of a response.

Jack’s jaw fell open and a look of panic found a home in his eyes. “Don’t worry Jack, I already knew. She was always lousy at hiding things from me. I knew she liked girls from when we were teenagers. Which is impressive, given that we lived on opposite sides of the world at the time.”

“How did you know about Kate?”

“Is that her name? Hmm. Jane wasn’t sure.”

“You’ve had Jane tell you this?” Jack felt that he really shouldn’t be surprised, it had been Helen who had been the Private Detective originally.

“Well Jane took the photos which are on Facebook and in the messages we’ve exchanged since, she’s confessed that she might have looked out into the hallway at an opportune moment and seen some snogging happening.” Phryne whispered conspiratorially.

“That girl misses nothing.” Jack was trying to add no further information.

“I like to think I’m training her in the Art of Detection.”

“So, what happens now?” Jack asked, moving over to the sofa and folding the doona. He felt that changing the subject was the wisest course of action.

“I go home, saunter past the cameras, let them take my picture and hope that they leave.”

“Where’s Jane?” Jack asked, suddenly concerned.

“She climbed over the back fence from the neighbour’s house a few hours ago.” Phryne explained.

“A further lesson from your detection education?” Jack asked with a smirk.

“Something like that. Thank you for letting me into your life though Jack, and your flat, it’s lovely.”

“It was fine. I was glad to be able to help.”

“I think you take some licence with the views though,” said Phryne, wandering over to the window.

Jack considered his response for a moment, deciding that if he was really going for this thing with Phryne, he might as well try his hand at ‘romantic gesture’. “I said _if_ I was on the roof.”

“Well how do we get on the roof then?” Phryne asked, turning to face him.

“It’s dark.”

“Then all the lights will be on. I’ll still be able to pick things out.”

“Fine. Put some clothes on and I’ll show you.” Jack wondered how his world had shifted so dramatically that he was telling Phryne Fisher to get dressed. He briefly considered that getting her undressed was something he very much wanted to achieve.

Phryne fluttered her eyelashes and withdrew to the bedroom, sweeping her handbag with her. She emerged a few minutes later wearing a different top, presumably plucked from her bag, the jeans she had worn on the plane, and with bare feet.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t want to sleep in that one?”

“I tend to sleep in nothing at all Jack. This top is far too close-fitting for me to have been comfortable.”

Jack tried to remain nonchalant. “Ah. Are the heels the only shoes you have with you?” he asked, as he pushed his feet into a pair of trainers and absolutely did not allow himself to imagine the prospect of Phryne naked in his bed.

“Yes.”

“Can you climb a ladder wearing them?” Jack asked, knowing that assuming Phryne could not was unwise.

“I should think so,” said Phryne, as she pushed her feet into the stilettos, “lead the way.”

Jack moved to the glass doors, unlocked them and slid the glass carefully open. He beckoned Phryne towards him and they stepped out into Jack’s small patio. Phryne could now see that there was a ladder leant up against one of the walls. Jack adjusted the angle of the ladder and made sure it was braced safely against the edge of the roof.

“Would you like to go first?” he offered.

Phryne smiled and carefully ascended the ladder, placing her hand on the edge of the roof to steady herself as she took her final step up. Jack quickly followed after her, and pulled himself up onto the flat roof of the building.

“Are we supposed to be up here?” Phryne asked curiously.

“I’m not sure. But I’ve never been told I can’t,” said Jack, offering his hand to Phryne and moving further towards the far corner of the building.

“That’s perilously close to breaking rules Jack.”

“But the views are very much worth it.” Jack said with what Phryne judged to be a very slight smoulder.

He pulled her towards the corner, and stopped, guiding Phryne to stand in front of him. With her heels on she was much closer to his height, and he tucked his head over her shoulder.

“Now, over there are the gardens. And then you sweep around, and you can see over to The G and the Yarra and the lights are on down at the foreshore.” Jack carefully slid an arm around Phryne’s waist, holding her closely to him. Phryne looked out into the distance; Jack had been right, she could see where her house was. The lights were beginning to shine more brightly in the gathering darkness as day faded entirely into night.

“How on earth did you find this place Jack?” said Phryne, sliding her hand over Jack’s and running her fingers lightly over his.

“I was very lucky. Good timing. And some people are put off by the noise of the trains. The station is just at the back. But I can sleep through anything after a long shift.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” murmured Phryne, as she turned slowly to face Jack, sliding the hand which had been resting on his around to lie across his back, “and you’re right, the views are marvellous.”

“You’re not even looking the right way Phryne,” Jack whispered, his voice deepening as he saw Phryne’s eyes flick between his lips and his eyes.

“I rather think I am,” murmured Phryne, sweeping her free hand up Jack’s arm and running her fingers lightly through the hairs at the back of Jack’s neck.

Jack looked at Phryne and slowly raised his free hand. He ran the back of his index finger along Phryne’s cheek and looked into her eyes which he noticed were slightly dilated. “Phryne,” he breathed softly.

“Jack,” Phryne breathed, pushing herself closer to him. They both moved forwards to close the remaining distance between them. Their lips met, brushing softly. Phryne parted her lips gently and felt Jack begin to deepen the kiss, his hesitancy from this morning abandoned. She ran her fingers further into his hair. It was soft and thick and slightly wavy and Phryne swirled Jack’s hair through her fingers with tender enthusiasm. She realised that he seemed more relaxed now than he had earlier today. He was certainly being less restrained. Minutes passed as they kissed, the noise of an arriving train faded to nothingness as they became lost in each other.

Jack’s fingers had slowly moved to caressing Phryne’s neck and jawline. He felt the hand which was resting on his back grip fractionally tighter. He felt her curl his hair around in her fingers, and as he adjusted his lips he heard Phryne moan softly.

Phryne felt Jack’s fingers lightly stroking her neck and couldn’t stop the sound from escaping from her mouth. She traced the muscles of his back, somehow easier to sense through this looser clothing. She pressed her hips closer to Jack’s and felt his grip on her tighten in a mirror of her movement a few moments earlier. He moved his lips to the edge of her mouth, “I should take you home,” he mumbled.

“Time to face the music.” Phryne breathed, as she reluctantly broke the kiss.

“Will you be all right?” Jack ran his hands down Phryne’s back until they were lightly resting on her waist. He didn’t really want to take her home; he wanted to spend quite a lot more time kissing her. He determined that he needed to give himself more opportunities to kiss her.

Phryne smiled, a huge beam across her face. “I’m always all right, but thank you for your concern. Now, help me down the ladder.”

 

The journey to Phryne’s house was brief and quiet, as Phryne steeled herself to run the gauntlet of the cameras.

Jack parked his car up around the corner and turned off the engine. “Are you sure about this? I could drive you to the door?”

“Its fine, Jack, but thank you.” Phryne reached for her phone and rang the house, alerting Mr B to her imminent arrival. She hung up and turned to Jack, “thank you for today Jack.”

“It was nothing.”

“It was an awful lot. And I can’t thank you enough for helping with Jane.”

“She’ll be very pleased to see you.” Jack paused and turned to look at Phryne slightly nervously. “And, erm, is Friday good for dinner?”

Phryne looked at Jack. She could sense his nervousness and decided against using humour. With total honesty she replied, “That would be lovely.”

“Shall I pick you up at say, Seven Thirty?”

“Do you know where you’re taking me?”

Jack rocked his head gently as if in consideration, “I have an idea. Somewhere, friendly, discreet, nowhere with any press. So if you feel the need to kiss me in the middle of dinner…” Jack was trying for cheeky, and hoping that Phryne would throw him a smoulder in response.

He was surprised by Phryne pressing her lips to his. “I look forward to it. Good night Jack, and thank you.” Phryne demurely exited the car, steeled herself and strode around the corner.

She cast a glance behind her and observed Jack starting his car up and carefully pulling away from the kerb. As she sauntered past the small bank of camera crews she saw Mr B open the front door of the house in anticipation. She really would have to consider giving him a salary increase. She ignored all the questions from the photographers, although she paused briefly and flashed them a knowing smile. “I’m afraid gentlemen that I really will have to ask you to leave now you have your pictures. Or I will have to call the police to move you along. My neighbours have been terribly good about all this. Thank you.” With that she walked briskly down her drive and allowed Mr Butler to close the door smartly behind her.

She fished her phone from her pocket and texted Jack:

**_Gauntlet run. See you Friday xx P_ **

When Jack got home, he checked his phone, which had buzzed as he had been driving. It was a text from Phryne, which he read quickly. He noted however that displayed next to her name was a picture, which had not been there before. He pressed to enlarge it and a gentle smile came to his face. She had set an icon for herself, and it was of her in his T-shirt, looking at the camera with a smoulder in her eyes. He wondered how on earth she had managed to take it, and decided he didn’t care. His phone buzzed again:

**_And I hope you don’t mind about the picture. I couldn’t quite resist the urge xx_ **

Jack shook his head, put his phone on to charge and went to bed. His covers smelt faintly of Phryne, and he adjusted the pillows, deciding to give sleeping across the entire width of the mattress a go. As he quickly felt his body succumb to sleep he considered that things with Phryne were going much better than he could ever have hoped.


End file.
